Awake
by Theolyn
Summary: After twenty years, St. Mungos Director Hermione Granger finally finds a way to help her long-term coma patient. What will she find when she penetrates the mysteries of his mind? (Ignores much of the Epilogue, and assumes that Snape survived the shack.)
1. Chapter 1

Awake

By Theolyn

Chapter One:

Dr. Hermione Granger, M.D., M.H., pulled the worn file for patient 0691 from its familiar niche on her "problem patient" shelf. Over the years, many patients had resided in that spot for a time. Some she'd cured. Some she'd lost. Some had transferred out of her care. But none had resided so long in limbo as this one. And now, at last, after twenty frustrating years, this patient's time had come.

Hermione ran careful fingers on the outside of the folder, releasing the privacy charms that held everything within for her eyes alone. Carefully, meticulously, she went over her notes, though in reality, they'd been long committed to her memory. She'd like to think that any patient that wound up in her care would receive the same careful consideration. But, she knew, that was not quite true. Every patient was unique, yes. And practically every patient was special to someone…but this patient, this patient was special to everyone. All of wizarding kind. But more than that, he was special to her. It was a fine difference, but a fundamental one.

So while she'd obsessed over many of the patients that had found their way to her desk, she'd applied a different standard of determination to this one. It was that determination really, once she'd reached the limits of what magic could provide him, that had led her to time-turner her way into the muggle field of neuroscience, supplementing her Master of Healing with an old fashioned M.D. Seven years without sleep had been hard on her body, and murderous to her already faltering marriage, despite the obvious pride Ron had showed in her achievements. But the results had been worth it. Not in the case of patient 0691, of course, at least not yet. He slumbered on. But others, many others now, had benefitted.

Hermione reached the patient's EEG readings. It had taken her a year of nonstop campaigning to add that clever machine to her growing battery of muggle medical tools. The trustees had only acquiesced once she'd unleashed her nuclear option: Harry Potter threatening to alert the Daily Prophet that St. Mungos was not trying EVERYTHING to heal the greatest hero of Dumbledore's war. They'd loosened their parsimonious purse strings quite handily after that.

She studied the chart of the first EEG reading. How thrilling it had been to see the tool confirm her medical intuition. That brilliant, acerbic mind was in there, still vital and alive, locked tightly beneath his occlumantic shields, busy, but unreachable as a missile commander in a cold war bunker.

Later readings had been steadily less reassuring. He was, Hermione believed, moving away from them. Periods of mental activity were fewer. Less frequent. Less frenetic. Soon, she suspected, he would be gone entirely, and the pale flesh of his body would become nothing more than an empty shell.

The thought of it roiled despair in her belly… but, she reminded herself sternly, that the end was nearing was wherein their hope lay. It would be as he moved beyond them that his shields would falter.

It was both frustrating, and utterly astounding that his defenses had held for so long. Hermione considered it a resounding testimony, had they needed one, to the power of his magic, and the sheer brilliance of their construction, that his occlumantic shields had remained impenetrable for so many years. No wonder Voldemort had been unable to break them. They were perfection. Or they had been. Only now, at last, just as his mind was slipping away from them, had the construction had begin to fail. She'd almost, almost gotten through. If she'd been a little more rested, a little more fully charged, a little more in top form, she might have managed it.

So this time, she'd be ready. She'd slept. A full six hours; quite the accomplishment for her. She'd eaten a full meal, complete with the usually avoided carbohydrates and fats. And she'd refrained from so much as a wingardium leviosa all morning. Her batteries, physical, mental, and magical, were fully charged.

She was as ready as it was in her power to be. Today. Today she would reach him. Today, she would bring Severus Snape home.

SSSSSS

Granger tucked the file under her armpit, a vial of potion in each of her coat pockets, and made her way out of her office. Though she was eager to begin, she still took the time to greet every mediwitch and wizard she passed. A word here, a gesture there, a gentle suggestion when needed; she'd worked long and hard to turn this outdated institution into a model of efficiency, and she'd not weaken morale by shortchanging any member of her staff. They deserved no less than her best. Even now.

And so, though it took her three quarters of an hour to reach her destination, she could not regret it. Her slow tour had uncovered one error-in-the-making, three moderate successes, and one intern she was now convinced should walk the tables to journeywoman. She'd see to the promotion in the morning. Was there any success greater than watching someone she'd nurtured grow?

Bringing back patient 0691. Yes. That.

SSSSSS

Ward C was quiet, simply decorated, and beautiful. It faced west, and in the afternoon sunlight spilled in obstreperously. Outside, a grove of Bay Laurel trees rustled, lending both scent and sound every time a breeze wafted through. It was an old ward, so the rooms were large, private, and highly desired. Only the wealthiest families could afford the surcharge levied on this floor.

Hardly the place, according to the trustees, to house a long-term coma patient. She'd fought and won that war too. Although Snape might not be aware of his surroundings, Hermione was. She liked the idea that he lay in a room drenched in sunlight. After a life spent in cold dungeons, it seemed the least she could do for him.

SSSS

Even for a Master of Healing, the practice of legilimancy without eye contact was a tricky business. It would require 100% of her focus. All of her own shields and defenses would need to be lowered entirely for the procedure to have a shred of success.

Though the war was long over, Hermione was as incapable of operating unprotected as any veteran would be, and so she took the time to ward the door, the room and the windows with a quick release spell. Any of them would open to her merest thought, but the charm would prevent anything less powerful than a full regiment of aurors from entering.

Next, she carefully set out two potions on the bedside table. There was one she hoped to administer. The other? Well he had a right to that one if he chose. She rather hoped he wouldn't…but the choice was his nonetheless.

She scooted the sturdy chair six inches closer to the side of his bed. She straightened her robes, and stared at her patient. Hopefully, this would be the last time she would see him looking unoccupied.

Before sitting, she stroked a cool, professional hand over his close-cropped hair. Then, surprising herself, dropped a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"For luck." She said, to herself as much as him. Then, she sat, taking his hand in hers.

"Come on, Professor. Let's see if we can find you this time."

SSSSSS

Author's Note: Hello Dear Readers…AT long last I'm embarking on what I hope to be a novella-length story. I've got the next seven chapters drafted, but as always, I'm happy to toss them in the rubbish if one of you leads me in another direction. So give me your likes and dislikes. Your story-related hopes. Your problems. Your character related details. Your wouldn't-it-be-nices, and I will do my best to keep my muse on her toes. I will be posting once a week, unless the fire hose turns on, and I'm forced to post more often! Looking forward to adventuring with you all! Sincerely Theolyn


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

He sat, cross legged, enjoying the play of sunlight on his closed eyelids. If he opened his lids, there would be nothing. He'd be sitting in a featureless room of white. But with his lids closed, he could almost discern a pattern. Sunlight through rustling leaves. It was a small pleasure…but it was a pleasure nonetheless. It was a feeling…and feelings had become rather scarce of late.

It hadn't always been this way. When he'd first arrived at this place between places, there had been feelings to spare. Roiling, bubling, bitter waves of memory and emotion. When he'd first found himself trapped here, he'd had no choice but to relive every moment of his miserable life, over, and over, and over.

Thankfully, by the thousandth repetition, the bitter injustice of it all had lost its sting. For the second thousand viewings, he'd found himself watching the opera of his life with intellectual curiosity. And he'd found, to his great surprise, that perhaps things had not been quite as unjust as he'd experienced them to be.

Oh, he'd been dealt a foul hand of cards, that was without question. An abusive father. A translucent shadow of a mother. The caustic corrosion of deep poverty. But perusal after perusal had gradually revealed the opportunities he'd passed by. The kindnesses he'd overlooked. The hands stretched towards him that he had batted away. Time and time again, he'd chosen misery over joy. Darkness over light. Pain over pleasure. Stupid, stupid child. He'd had a fine mind. A willing body. Keen powers of observation. From this vantage, it was obvious that he might have used those tools to find happiness. But he had not.

This discovery, that he had played a part in his own suffering, had lead him into a period of regret, a time when the story of his life was a story of sadness. As the film of his life had played over and over, he'd wept. For himself. For others. For the tragedy of it all. He'd wept every tear he'd left unshed on earth, until he'd felt hollowed out. Until the well of grief had come up empty. Until all the pain within him had drained away.

And yet, though his pain was gone, the movie of his life had played on. With nothing else to consider, he'd continued to watch. A thousand times more it played, until he found himself watching all of it with humor. His life hadn't been a tragedy, he realized. Far from it. It had been a comedy. A grand comedy. A farce beyond all farces. And he, with his pain wrapped around himself self-righteously, had been the biggest clown of all. He'd spent the next thousand iterations laughing at his own foolishness, so hard that tears once again dripped unceasingly down the surface of his metaphysical cheeks.

He'd quite enjoyed that. That had been a good time. A happy time.

And still the movie had played on. By the millionth re-watching, he had discovered that all of his categorizing, all of his posthumous judgment (for what was this place if not a pale afterlife?) had been meaningless. He perceived, with great fondness that none of it mattered. Tragedy. Comedy. Real. Unreal. None of it mattered at all. It was all the same thing. It was simply life.

And with that, the movie had ceased to play.

He'd begun to grow quiet. He'd begun to find stillness within him. He'd begun to be nothing at all. And that, in and of itself, felt like a comfort, a kind of peace.

He was, he suspected, beginning to fade back into the nothingness. The though filled him with a distant regret. If only he could do it all again. But then again, it was what it was…wasn't it?

As the peace within him grew, so too did the workings of his imagination. It happened rarely, but at odd intervals, just when the emptiness called most strongly, a thought would intrude from nowhere, grow larger, project itself into the space around him. Rather than a memory it would be a fantasy, a place to which he had not been, an event he had not lived, a person he had not loved. He would feel himself dissolving into nothingness, lost in the play of light on his lids, and then of a sudden he would wander a country lane, marvel at the texture of dust beneath his bare feet or savor the hum of insect life around him.

Once, he found himself stroking the pelt of a panting cheetah, her alien pupils boring into his soul. Another time, he was a muggle doctor, ignoring heat and discomfort to bring medication to where it was needed most. Once, there was an entire glorious day spent watching the tides come and go and come again on a deserted beach.

That these visions appeared whenever he seriously considered surrendering to the void led him to believe that perhaps his subconscious was not yet ready for oblivion. If he were completely honest with himself, he would admit that, despite his perspective, he craved…more.

SSSS

Another time. Still in this place. His consciousness unraveling. This time, he thought for a moment, might be the time. The time when he would finally find himself utterly undone. He would let go. He would move on, if there was an on to move to. Perhaps there he would get the more that he craved. And if he didn't, well, he'd never know, would he? Yes. It was time. Time to let go.

Then, as often happened when he strayed close to oblivion, his subconscious provided a distraction.

A woman this time. One he recognized. Oh, he'd filled in some details of course. Her face had matured. Where before it had held the ripe flush of youth, an aesthetic that had never been of interest to him, even when he had been young, it now held…gravitas was the word. And intensity. Ah, intensity. A sense of the inherent importance of one's tasks in the world. He'd had that too one upon a time.

That he'd imbued her with these qualities…it was fascinating. Perhaps he was not as divorced from the journey of his life as he'd thought. Perhaps there were areas of his subconscious he'd not yet plumbed after all. The thought momentarily thrilled him.

But that exploration must wait for another time. He'd not squander one moment of the experience that lay before him.

He unfolded his limbs, rising from his seat, and walked towards Hermione Granger.

SSSSS

From her chair beside his sleeping form, Hermione focused her magical will. Using legillimancy, she carefully combed the surface of Severus Snape's shields. Inch, by tortuous inch, she examined them, as she had so many times before. They were still intact, but unlike the first time she'd done so, she now found places where they appeared to be subtly…wavering.

It was a subtle phenomenon, but it seemed to be spreading. She followed one waver, followed it back to its point of origin.

There. Right there. What she'd seen yesterday, but had not had the reserves to exploit. A corner, pealing up like a bit of old wallpaper. She focused her will upon it, and gently tugged. It gave way. And beneath it…what looked like a hole. The barest opening. But a bare opening was all she needed. She didn't have a body here, after all. Breathing shallowly to contain the thrill that ran through her, Hermione Granger gently inserted her mind into his.

SSSS

Her first impression was an expanse of emptiness. Vast, white emptiness. Featureless at first. Then, light. Not the cool flicker of fluorescents, or the dim wavering of torches, but the warm full-spectrum of sunlight, so that the environment felt clean and warm, rather than cold and clinical. She'd been right then, right to give him to the sun. For there he was, sitting cross-legged, his sharp face relaxed, his lean body completely still.

Or the projection of his body, she reminded herself. His body was elsewhere, passively wasting away in a hospital bed. No, this was not his body. This would be the projection of his mind: him as he saw himself.

He was clothed in soft gray flannel trousers and a rough-woven white tunic. His hair was unshorn, and fell soft and clean to his shoulders. The lines of perpetual worry that marred his face even while comatose were here so faint as to be barely visible.

"Professor." She said.

Slowly, deliberately, he opened his eyes. They were as they'd ever been, dark and to her mind fathomless, and utterly familiar, despite the decades since she'd seen them open last. Gods. It was him.

Strangely, he seemed neither surprised, nor shocked to see her there. Perhaps he'd been aware somehow of her presence, the countless hours she'd spent in this very chair over the years, attempting to bring him back to the world of the living. Who knew what he'd experienced in his prolonged limbo? Whatever the reason, he seemed supremely calm to find her suddenly present.

He uncurled himself, and she noted that when he rose, it was with the same easy grace that had so baffled her as a child. To witness it now, here, caused a lump deep in her throat. He was really here. And she, after so long, was here with him.

"I've found you." She said, her voice no louder than a whisper.

His mouth tilted. She rather thought the expression reminiscent of a smile.

"Hermione Granger," he said, slowly, savoring as if the words pleased him, "I would not have guessed it. But now that you are come, I find that it fits, somehow, that you are with me.

"Here," he said, stretching a hand out to her.

She took it in hers, remembered that her real body held his hand on another plane.

She opened her mouth to explain, but he took his other hand, and gently slid the pad of his palm over her cheek.

"Such a face you have," he said, in a voice warm with pleasure.

And then, to her complete shock, he lowered his mouth to hers.

End Chapter Two

AN: Hello Good Readers/Co-authors! I hope you are enjoying our initial chapters. I'm still getting a handle on the shape of this story, so keep your questions/comments/ requests coming. I'm working several chapters ahead, and already your commentary has led me to shift my course to a new and (I think) better one than I'd originally intended. Many Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

She had no idea how long it took her brain to wrest itself from the drugging slumber of his mouth upon hers. He was kissing her as if she were the source of all pleasure, as if he were content to spend the rest of his life doing nothing more than exploring the deepest contours and convexities of her mouth. It was simultaneously carnal and yet contained, as if all existence had narrowed down to the point where their two mouths were joined.

A minute? Maybe five? No more than ten.

A distant voice in her head began to insist that she could not afford to be this self-indulgent. He was her patient. She should be helping him escape from this limbo, not encouraging him to snog her senseless. And encouraging was what she was doing, her body leaning in towards his, her tongue matching stroke for stroke.

It was with deepest regret that she disentangled her mouth from his…only to have him drop to her neck and begin calmly, thoroughly devouring it.

Focus, Hermione, focus, she reprimanded herself, it's not like it's the first time you've had a man's mouth on your neck. (That it felt like the first time, or more accurately, that it felt much MORE than any other time, was inconsequential.) As she thought this he skimmed the palms of his hands down her collar bones and over her chest to cup the small firmness of her breasts.

"Lovely." He whispered against her neck as his left thumb made contact with her nipple.

The sensation was acute enough to jolt her from her fog. "Professor!" she squeaked, her voice an octave higher than usual.

"Severus," he corrected, still nibbling.

She placed both her palms onto the plane of his chest, and pushed firmly away. "Severus, then. I am not here for this."

Intrigued rather than annoyed, he tilted his head to one side. "Aren't you?" After a moment's pause he seemed to decide to play along. He stepped back and folded his arms in front of himself. "Then why ARE you here?"

"I am here," she said, attempting to steady herself, "to help you leave this place."

SSSS

A few minutes later she was still trying to explain the situation.

"No." She shook her head, as much in an effort to clear it as to communicate. "As I explained earlier, the coma is magical, Severus. There is no biological reason for it. And whatever you have been experiencing here, it has not been real life. Your body is in a bed at St. Mungos. You are a patient in my care. And I've come to help you leave this limbo. I have come to deliver you a choice."

"You are my Healer?" He raised an eyebrow. Though his lips were still swollen from kissing her, his face had become entirely neutral. "Time has passed then." His eyes, unlike his face, practically sparked with interest. She'd never seen them so emotive. "You are actually here, in this place."

Hermione nodded. "I am using legilimancy to visit your mind, which is why our time is…limited."

He closed his eyes for a moment. Breathed deeply. When his eyes opened again, she knew he believed her.

"Yes, it would be. We'd have used roughly two thirds of it with our earlier activity."

"Half, by my calculations. Nonetheless, you see, we can't indulge ourselves with any more of…" She took an audible breath and shrugged her shoulders, "…Well, we can't afford to be sidetracked."

"Understood." He smirked. "Now that I know your purpose, I shall… restrain myself."

She blew out a relieved breath. "Thanks for that."

"Well, Mediwitch Granger. What happens next?"

"That, Professor Snape, is up to you."

She opened her clutched hands, showed him two vials of potion. "Basically, you take one of these. These are simulacrums, of course. The real potion is at your bedside, in a bespelled container. Take the potion here, and the real potion will be administered to your body."

"Clever."

"So I've been told."

He smirked again, appreciating her, then stepped forward, taking both vials of potion. He examined each of them with what appeared to be professional curiosity, holding them to the light, observing the viscosity of the contents. After a minute, he uncorked the first vial, peered inside, held it to his nose, and breathed deeply.

"Pacem Nox." He said. A bare smile appeared about his lips. "Sweetest, most pleasurable of magical poisons. Dreadfully difficult to make." He sniffed it again. "is this of your own manufacture?"

"It is."

"And you marinated the silfskin properly?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I've been told I'm rather clever that way."

He sniffed. "You were reasonably competent at such things. I assume your skills have improved since your early attempt at polyjuice."

She snorted. "You would bring THAT up, wouldn't you? Fortunately for you, they have. I'm fully licensed. The Pacem will do the job, and do it well… if that's what you chose."

"So, Healer Granger has come to offer me painless, easy death." He stroked the bottle with fondness, almost as if greeting an old friend. "Interesting."

She nodded. "If death is what you want, you've a right to it." She paused. "I hope you don't mind my saying I rather hope it isn't."

"Understood. And the other?" He took the second bottle from her, uncorked it, flared his nostrils at the unmistakable combination of mandrake leaf and cinnamon. His eyebrows winged up in surprise. "Renerrvation Draught? Simplest stimulant in the potioneer's arsenal? Please explain to me why you believe a potion from the first year's curriculum is strong enough to release me from a prolonged magical coma?"

"Nothing is certain, of course. But your test results indicate that it should work. The coma is not that deep…but you will need to drop your occlumantic shields first."

"My shields?" His body froze. "My shields." A torrent of sequential feelings passed over his face. It passed by too quickly for Hermione to recognize the individual emotions…but it culminated with one she recognized…rueful chagrin. He shook his head, barked a rusty laugh. "Gods. My shields."

This time, he tipped his head back and laughed heartily, a deep wild sound. He laughed so hard and so long that tears actually leaked from his eyes. Hermione was considering the risks of slapping him from his hysteria when he calmed himself. "All this time," he said, grinning at her, as if she told him a ribald joke, "An eternity, really, and I've been trapped behind my own damned shields." He chuckled again, and took the time to dab the tears from the corners of his eyes. "That is rich, isn't it? And I have been behind them for how long now?"

"The war has been over for twenty years."

"Twenty years." He shrugged, still chuckling, and apparently unconcerned. "That feels about right. The war. I'd wondered about that. We won, I presume? Potter was able to do the grand deed?"

She smiled. "Yes, he was. Thanks to you. He even lived through it."

Snape's eyebrows winged up. "Did he? Well, that is news indeed. He did better than I did, obviously." He shrugged again. "And…my body?"

At this she could smile. "Intact and whole, save for a lovely series of scars that snake left you. Once you get your strength back, I quite think you'll find your mortal shell better than you remember it. We've made great strides in the reversal of dark spell damage, even gotten a handle on cruciatus syndrome. Your poor body was quite a wreck when they brought you in."

He shrugged again, as if such things were beyond his concern.

"And my legal status?"

"Legal status? Oh, yes. You wouldn't know, would you? You're a hero. Order of Merlin, First Class. Absolutely and completely absolved in every way of any wrongdoing."

Again the shrug, which Hermione had begun to suspect hid emotion rather than indicated a lack thereof.

"I'm sorry Professor, I know it's a lot to take in. But time is short. I really am running near the ends of my reserves here, and if you don't choose now, I'm not certain if we will get another chance. "

Hermione glanced down at the vials of potion gripped in his hands. Initially, she had been tempted to hold back the Pachem Nox. She'd wrestled with the idea of only bringing it out if he specifically requested it.

But she lived by her Healer's oath. First, she must do no harm. Dragging him back to life against his will? To her mind, that was the greatest harm she could perpetrate on his person. Let him have a real choice, this once. Let him have what he wanted in this, at least.

SSSS

Severus Snape surveyed the great white room. Choosing his manner of exiting it was not difficult at all.

If anything, it was all he could do to contain his excitement. This was what he had been craving. Another opportunity. Another chance. And here that chance was. Knowing what he knew now, he was confident he'd not make a ruddy mess this time. He would, he promised himself, grab on to every happiness that presented itself with both hands, and he would not let go until he had held it all.

This time, he would live.

First things first. He reached deep inside himself to the place where his magic resided. How many times in the early years had he fruitlessly tried spell after spell in an attempt free himself from his imprisonment? And yet, what he'd needed to do had been in his power all the time. Call him Dorothy he thought, to his own amusement. It was fitting, wasn't it? Annoying, yes. But fitting nonetheless.

Release, he commanded himself. Rustily, at first, and then with greater momentum, a tension within him so familiar as to have been forgotten unclenched.

The walls around him immediately faded in response. He grinned. Bugger all, he would not miss them, not one bit. With sweet relish, he lifted his left arm up, turned his hand over, and let the bottle of purple potion fall to the ground. It shattered.

He'd cheated death many times, but he could not recall a time that had been this sweet.

Severus Snape stepped back, lifted the other vial to his still-swollen lips, and returned to life.

End of Chapter Three

AN: I gather that many of you thought I might extend this interlude, let Hermione and Snape experience more time together in this between-place. I apologize, that WOULD be interesting. (Anyone who wants to use that premise to write their own spin-off should feel free to explore that. Just give me credit for the idea, and ping me, of course, so I can read it too!)

But I cut it short because I'm much more interested in discovering what comes next. I want a wonderful reality for Snape, you know?

I want to find out what happens when our heroes meet in the real world. What will Snape bring back with him from his time in the void? And how will Hermione cope with her, erm, experiences there? Let's find out!

Your reviews feed the muse…

Theolyn


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Later that night, at their weekly Thursday night dinner, Hermione revealed her accomplishment to her best friends.

"You did it?" Ron asked incredulously, a greasy garlic noodle dangling from his open mouth. "You really did it?"

Twenty-seven years of friendship, seven of them as his wife, and she still had to breathe deeply to tolerate the man's eating habits. "I did. And I'll thank you to swallow your noodle, Ronald, and stop looking so bloody shocked. Did you really think I wouldn't?"

Harry, his own mouth of food forgotten during her revelation, chewed, swallowed, and spoke up. "Of course not! If anyone could do it, it would be you. It just seems sudden. Now. After twenty years."

"That's funny. Sudden after twenty years. But I have to say, it feels sudden to me too. I mean, I barely pulled it off, to tell you the truth. It was like everything with us. One part effort, study and preparation, and three parts outrageous luck and improvisation. All hail luck, because the legendary Severus Snape is now awake, alert, and at this very moment driving his nurses crazy."

Harry's mouth split into a boyish grin. "Is he? Nasty as ever?"

Hermione grinned back. "Every bit. Not as much malice behind it, I think. It's like the chip is gone from his shoulder. Which is odd, since it seems he doesn't remember a damned thing since that foul snake bit him." She shrugged, mostly to hide her own annoyance. "To him, it all happened yesterday, can you imagine? Snake bites him, he hands you his memories, and he wakes up twenty years later. I expected him to be fuzzy and confused. But he's not. He's sharp and he's prickly, and he is very, very Snape."

Ron, who was looking a bit disconcerted, snorted. "Just what the world needs. Severus Snape back to swoop down on unsuspecting students."

"Well, I think it'll be a while before he swoops down on anyone. He still has a lot of strength to regain, poor man."

"I think" said Harry, his face still beaming, "a swooping Snape is exactly what this world needs. The Bat of the Dungeons is back! Seriously, Hermione, hearing he's awake is the best news I think I've ever heard."

Hermione eyes narrowed and her mouth shaped a small frown. "Harry James Potter. You aren't going to do anything stupid, are you? I know you have questions to ask him, but you will wait for him to regain his strength, and level out before you start pestering him, won't you?" Harry raised his hands, palms out, in a gesture of innocence. "And you're both to keep it quiet. The last thing we need is the Prophet catching wind of it. The poor man will be besieged." She turned back to Harry. "So stay away from him."

Harry affected a wounded look. "Me, rush in without thinking, causing destruction and mayhem? I assure you, I am completely reformed. Ask Ginny."

Hermione had to laugh. "My arse, you have. And Ginny'd just agree with me. Look, just give him some time, will you? For me? No sneaking in to the ward, at least not until I clear you. You either, Ronald."

"Me?" Ron looked genuinely surprised. "Why would I sneak in?" He speared a fork full of noodles, and shoveled them into his mouth. "I mean," he said, showing a mouthful of his food, "he was on our side and all, so he was our greasy git, and I'm grateful, but he was still a git, wasn't he?"

Harry nodded. "That he was. And now he can be that again. Maybe," And here he nodded obsequiously towards Hermione, "When herself gives us permission, we can even invite him to Thursday dinner. Get to know him adult-to-adult."

Ron frowned, and put down his fork. "Well, that's done it. I've lost my appetite. Bloody hell." He passed the bottle over to Harry, who leaned over and topped up his and Hermione's glasses.

"Well, if the meal's over, let's have a toast then. Go on then Ron. Raise it. To our greasy git, the bravest man who ever lived, who saved our entire world. Severus Snape."

"Severus Snape." They all intoned, raising their glasses and tipping them back.

After a moments pause, Ron raised glass again. "Oy. Fill that cup Harry. I've got one more. To the woman who saved the greasy git. Oh, stop it. Luck or effort, he wouldn't have made it without you, and you know it. To Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age."

"Hermione! Long may she reign! Here Here!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but drank deeply nonetheless.

SSSS

Later that evening, as Hermione was stepping out onto the porch of Grimmauld Place to apparate home, Ron caught up with her.

"Hey you. Got a minute?"

Hermione nodded. "I was going to catch up on some paperwork, but I can spare a few."

"About what I said in there…about Snape…I always knew you'd pull it off, you know. I always did." He reached out, grabbed one of her curls, stretched it, measuring how long her hair actually was. It always fascinated him, the extra foot of length that was concealed in her mass of curls. "Every night while you were studying, every missed dinner, every time I felt sorry for myself, I always knew that what you were doing was bloody important. After all he did for us, someone needed to save Snape, and I always knew it was going to be you." He released the curl, watched it snap back into shape. "Boing," he said, completing the ritual.

Hermione smiled at the gesture. "I knew that. I knew you always believed in me. …even when things were tough."

"Yeah. That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about." He cleared his throat nervously. "Could we talk about..it for a minute?"

"It?" It only took Hermione a moment to figure out what he was talking about; discussion on the cause of their breakup had been off-limits for years now. In the past, every time they'd tried to discuss what they might have done differently it had always ended with a big row. She'd insist that if he'd had a bit more patience, they'd have figured it out. And he'd yell that if she could have been just a little less focused on her goals, and a little more focused on him, they would have been fine. Neither of them ever budged on it. After about a year of the constant fighting, Harry had forced them to agree that the truth lay somewhere between the two ideas, and declared the debate officially over.

But time had passed, and, the sting had faded. They really were back to being best of mates most of the time. Which meant it probably was time to examine it all again.

"Yeah. Okay."

"What happened with us? I mean, we should have worked, shouldn't we? Was it really just that I wasn't patient enough?"

"Ronald." She took his hand, and squeezed it. "I don't believe that anymore. Not really. I'm starting to think we were never supposed to be together. Not like that?"

"Really?" his freckles darkened the way they did when he was feeling strong emotion. "'Cause I'm starting to think that way too. But why? Shouldn't we have?"

Hermione sighed, sat on the stoop, gestured for him to join her. "We've always been great friends. Right? Always. But maybe, maybe we tried to make that friendship into something it was never supposed to be. Remember how lost we were when we started dating?"

Ron nodded. "Yep. World is saved, now what?"

"Exactly. And Fred was dead, and Harry was practically comatose from all his trauma, and everything was chaos. Maybe we just needed something to believe in. And we grabbed on to what we had and called it love. But maybe it never was."

He closed his eyes. Some of the weight, the worry seemed to leave his face. When he opened them again, his freckles had returned to their normal color. "I think you might be right about that. So no matter how hard we both tried…"

Hermione nodded, "…there was nothing either of us could do." She picked up his hand, squeezed it again. "You know, Harry tried telling me exactly that after we broke up, but I didn't listen."

"Yeah. He said it to me too. Pain-in-the-arse chosen one…I hate it when he's right. Let's blame him."

They both grinned at each other. Hermione felt her own chest loosen, as if a knot within her had come untied. "Seems obvious now, doesn't it? You hate reading and I hate bloody quidditch."

He laughed, and she laughed, and lay her head down on his shoulder. "It stings a bit, you know, admitting that I fought so hard for something that would never have worked."

"Yeah, me too. But it also gives me hope. You know, that Megan and I can be different."

So THAT was what this was about. She smiled into the darkness. "You and Megan are already different. You are wonderful together. You want the same things out of life. And she's mad for you. And she wants half a dozen babies. She's what you want, isn't she?"

Though she couldn't see his face, she could hear the smile move across it. "Yeah."

She picked her head off his shoulder and turned to face him. "So what in Merlin's name are you waiting for? Isn't it time to get started on the rest of your life?"

Freckles darkened again, and a giant smile erupted on Ron's face, "Well, actually," he said, pulling a jewelry box from his pocket "I rather think it is time."

Hermione's suddenly aching heart stuttered, remembering another box in his hand years ago. One with a tiny diamond chip, and a swirl of dreams tied to it. But that hadn't been right. This, she knew in her heart of hearts, was.

"I've been carrying it around with me for weeks now." His grin turned sheepish. "I just wanted to talk to you first. Just to make sure I'm ready." He lifted the lid to reveal a garnet solitaire. "I know it's not traditional. But, we're both Gryffindor, so I think she'll like it." He paused, looked up at her. "You do think I'm ready right?"

Hermione felt a rush of emotions storm over her, and was relieved to note that in amongst sorrow, regret, grief, and joy, joy was the strongest of the lot. She threw her arms around his shoulders, careful not to knock the ring from his fingers.

"I am sure of it." She placed a kiss on his ruddy cheek.

"So I have your blessings?"

"All my blessings and more," she said, slipping her arm through the arm of her best friend. "It's really a beautiful color. Let's go back inside and tell Harry and Gin. We can open some champagne, and get their blessings too. I love you, Ronald Weasley."

He placed a kiss on her forehead. "Yeah. Me too, "Mione. Me too."

SSSSS

Daily Prophet, October 2, 2017

AWAKE!

By Rita Skeeter

Rumour has it that former Hogwarts Headmaster Severus Snape, war hero, who has been kept in suspicious isolation at St. Mungos ever since the battle of Hogwarts, has awakened from his reported "coma." St. Mungo's director Hermione Granger, MH, who has reportedly attempted to resuscitate him for over 20 years, was unwilling to comment on the matter.

Provided the man was actually comatose, an assumption which this reporter finds difficult to believe, the fact that reviving Snape was a twenty year endeavor sheds great doubts upon Granger's competence to act as director. Nonetheless, fans of the Professor are thrilled to have him once again among the living.

"I always believed in him," said Mrs. Padma Horscht, nee Patil, former student of the Headmaster's, "and we are all truly grateful to have him back!"

There is no official word yet on the Headmaster's actual condition, but this reporter was able to ascertain that the staff tending him includes a muggle psychiatrist. What is truth, and what is fiction? Has Snape been sleeping for twenty years? Or is there something more nefarious going on? And why has a muggle psychiatrist been called in? Whether or not the poor man suffers from insanity as a result of his medical ordeal remains to be seen.

End Chapter 4

AN: Hello everyone! It's a sad thing, a chapter without our Severus, isn't it? But we needed to get a peak into Hermione's other life. As for Severus, we'll get back to him next time.

I know that I've said I'll post once a week. I suppose it's become pretty obvious that I meant a minimum of once a week. Next chapter is already written…you'll get it in two days.

Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews. I love it when you tell me what's working, and what isn't! And thank you to my homophone and or cannon correctors. And I'll be reposting chapters with Hermione as Healer rather than Mediwitch in the next few days!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

SSSS

Severus Snape held his left arm aloft, considering the contrast of the dark mark against his white skin. After so many years of viewing the dark mark with loathing and disgust, he now saw it as a rather neutral affair. Not that he liked it, it was, at best, an aesthetically challenging souvenir from a poor life choice. But it should feel more… consequential, shouldn't it? Interesting. After a moment, his arm began to tremble from fatigue, so he lowered it to his chair.

For all intents and purposes, his body was for shit. The slightest physical effort left him shaky and gasping for breath. He could barely hobble to the loo and back without falling. The nurses kept going on about bedpans, but as he'd spent the last 20 years pissing lying down, he saw no reason to prolong that particular habit.

Even mealtime was exhausting. He'd greeted the initial attempts to feed him pablum through a straw with great scorn. After his first meal wrestling cereal to his face with a spoon he almost regretted that tantrum. But though he was tempted, he did not recant. He was a grown man. He'd feed himself, or he'd starve. And if it took him an hour to transfer the cereal from table to mouth, it would take him an hour. There was nothing else he needed to accomplish, after all.

He was practically helpless.

And yet, despite all this, for some reason obscure to him, he was thrilled.

Strange thoughts kept intruding on the place where his misery should have been. He should feel humiliated by his weakness, shouldn't he? And yet, he saw his physical condition clearly for what it was, a temporary stage on his journey back to life. He should feel degraded every time he needed a nurse's help to reach the loo. But he didn't. Hauling his bony arse about was their job, wasn't it? He was providing them with gainful employment.

Where was all this perspective from?

According to Grown-up-Granger, (who was apparently the bloody director of St. Mungos now, at the age of 37, no less, bless her swotty, overachieving heart), he'd been in a coma for twenty years. As far as he could tell, the evidence seemed to support her somewhat preposterous claim.

As far as he was concerned, he'd fallen into the agonizing maelstrom of Nagini's venom, and emerged a moment later in this room. All in all, it was a far better outcome than he'd expected, and probably better than he'd deserved.

And yet, despite his lack of memory, he couldn't help but feel that _something_ had occurred during the intervening time. He'd been…somewhere. There were times when he could almost remember it. Glimpses of white. Memories from his lifetime. But he couldn't quite get a handle on it. Whatever had occurred, something had changed him. He felt…different. Where before there had been a cauldron within him bubbling with hatred, remorse and dozens of shades of emotional pain, there was now a profound peace. He found himself feeling acceptance of things that would have otherwise infuriated him. He was finding joy in the simplest activities of his currently constrained life.

It was most disconcerting.

Maybe it was as that bloody Skeeter woman had implied. Maybe he was crazy, despite what Granger and her bloody psychiatrist had concluded. Though, truth be told, he'd wandered the paths of madness after Lily had died, and this did not feel the same.

Lily. There. He'd thought of her name without crushing emotion. He still felt…something when thinking those two syllables. Warmth. Sadness. The thinnest shadow of regret? But even these emotions were wispy, insubstantial, as if all of the toxicity had somehow drained away, leaving behind what could best be described as a bitter-sweet fondness.

Maybe it was some weird after-effect of the venom that was turning his emotional world askew. He'd have to look into it when he finally got clear of this ruddy place.

But while he was marginally interested in finding the cause of his new mind-set, he had to admit, if only to himself, that he had no interest at all in changing it. At all. He felt unfettered. Unburdened. New.

And so, he grumbled his way through the exercises given to him, as to grumble was his habit, and to grumble produced such a fascinating array of responses in those to whom he grumbled. But inside, every feeble step he took on tremulous limbs, every tennis ball he squeezed, every nurse he annoyed was pleasure. Pure pleasure.

That every muscle in his body ached like he'd just endured a crucio was of little concern. He'd of necessity become relatively insensate to pain when in the Dark Lord's service. He'd somehow lost the knack of that, for he was feeling discomfort far more keenly now. But though he felt it, it did not bother him. What was a little pain when paired with the sensation of blood coursing through his veins? What discomfort could stand against the exquisite stimulation of the sound of footfalls echoing down the hall? Or the chattering of birds outside, or the strangely familiar scent of the Laurel trees rising on the afternoon breeze? Though he complained bitterly against it, he secretly admitted that even the pablum they insisted on feeding him was milky, soothing, and strangely satisfying, as if filling a hole inside him deeper than hunger.

Damned if he wasn't…happy. He'd not had much experience with the emotion, but he could define it no other way. He was hiding it, mind you. He had an image to uphold. But Severus Snape, invalid, cranky patient, newly returned to the living, was happy nonetheless.

SSSS

Grown-Up-Granger herself visited later that day. She'd obviously ceased her catastrophic attempts to straighten that elemental hair of hers, allowing it to expand from her head in a nimbus of glossy curls rather than frizz. It was a vast improvement. Otherwise, she'd looked much the same as she had as a young adult. Her face was different, mind you. Older. More substantial. It held…gravitas. And why on earth should that thought seem familiar? Blast it.

If there was anything about his current state of mind that was legitimately frustrating, it was the sense that he had of déjà vu, as if so much of what he was experiencing was familiar in some bizarre way. Granger had explained some of the theories on coma patients and their environments, and how he might have taken in input even though he'd not been conscious…but he did not think that was the whole of it.

Anyway, Grown Up Granger had been polite, professional, and completely unmoved by his rather poetic, he felt, stream of complaints. Nonetheless, she couldn't quite hide how thrilled she seemed to be about his ongoing recovery; watching him cross the room unaided had sent the spark of a smile into her expressive eyes before she'd scribbled madly upon her clipboard. Still, he gave her good points for the frown with which she received his complaints.

"Stop whinging," she intoned, in response to his litany, using that infuriatingly even voice all high-status medical professional seem to affect.

Attempting to get Granger to break that tone further inspired him to opine upon the lack of flavor inherent in the pablum. The analogy he came up with struck him as rather creative, but it merely brought about a rolling of Granger's deep brown eyes.

"The point is rather moot; you should be on solids tomorrow. Bland diet," she said, her eyes glinting as she momentarily made eye contact, "Yum-Yum."

He glared at her, and she tipped her head back, and laughed full-throated.

"Stop complaining, and stop tormenting Mrs. Grady. She's a fine mediwitch. If she quits, I'll see to it that you get pablum for the rest of your stay at St. Mungos." She glanced down at her clip board. "If you can resist the temptation to verbally eviscerate my staff, then I will see what I can do about getting you something more flavorful to eat."

Reflexively, he bristled. "I'm not an infant you can bribe."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? With all that whinging I wouldn't know."

He growled at her raised eyebrow. Didn't she realize she'd learned that mannerism from him? How dare she?

She either missed his ire, or chose to ignore it, for the officious witch continued on. "If you're so against bribery, I guess you don't want your special prize I brought to reward you for your accomplishments in PT today." She flashed a tome at him, just long enough so that he could see the title. It was all he could do not to lunge forward and pull it from her hand. It had been twenty years, after all. Surely there'd been advances in his craft. His brain raced into fast-forward. Had Viceroy's conundrum been solved? Had substitutes been found to any of the forgotten ingredients? Had the degradation of stasis-spelled potions finally been corrected?

He wanted that book. Although he was tempted to deny his interest in the hopes of ruffling Grown Up Granger's feathers, he might then NOT get the book, and it was simply too tempting to resist. And so, though he growled, he reached eagerly for the Potioners Annual Review she held out to him.

"No more than ten minutes at a time," she said, her satisfied eyes dropping to her clipboard, and making a note for emphasis. "And make sure you take rests of equal length. You haven't read in twenty years. I don't want any eye strain."

He nodded noncommittally, indicating a compliance he had absolutely no intention of keeping. And so Grown Up Granger and her annoying clipboard had left the room, and he had dived inside.

Ten minutes later he discovered that the blasted witch had set a timer spell amongst the pages, blurring all the text at ten minute intervals until he'd followed the proscribed rest period.

What was wrong with him that being thus bested, by a know-it-all former student, no less, actually tickled him? She seemed competent enough, of course. She'd been a bright student, but woefully easy to discombobulate. He wondered, idly, if the latter were still so. Just because he hadn't yet managed to throw her off kilter, didn't mean that it was not possible. Pondering ways of cracking Grown-Up-Granger's professional façade was a pleasurable exercise that consumed the remainder of his mandated rest period.

At length, he glanced down at the Potioner's Annual Review. Its text had cleared again. So, Horace's ridiculous theorem about increasing potency of boomslang skin with exposure to sunlight had been utterly disproven, had it? How delightful! He smirked, and set out to enjoy the next chapter's revelations.

End Chapter 5

AN: So..you've had your daily Snape, even with a sprinkling of Hermione thrown in! And she's doing such a good job at holding her composure. I'm sure she's completely forgotten all about the snogging! (yeah, right!)

A few chapters ahead, I'm starting to envision what kind of life This Snape wants to build for himself. Let's hear your requests. Will he work? Have hobbies? Devote himself to an arcane meditation style? What would you like to see? If I pick one of your suggestions, I'll give you credit in the Author's Notes!

Best, Theolyn


	6. Chapter 6

Awake 6

Hermione Granger clutched her satchel of contraband, and did her best not to look like she was headed for Snape's room.

Who was she kidding? Since Skeeter's article everyone in wizardom knew she'd spent the better part of two decades attempting to wrest the man from the claws of a prolonged coma. It was no use pretending that he was just another patient to her. Even without the snogging, (because no one knew about that, including the man in question, and she was therefore doing her very best not to think about it, thankyouverymuch), she was bound to have a vested interest in the man's well being. No reason for her to slink down the hallways like a miscreant heading for an assignation. She was the director of the hospital, after all. She could go wherever she bloody well wanted to.

So what if, strictly speaking, he wasn't even her patient anymore? The moment he'd passed all his neurological exams, (…and boy, had he; his I.Q. results would make an Oxford PH.D weep with envy. Eidetic memory. Of course he had. Bastard.) that very moment, he'd passed out of her official domain, and into the hands of Rehabilitation and Recovery. Oh, she was still ostensibly the lead on his case, but that was purely an honorary title. At this point, there was not a thing wrong with him that physical therapy, copious food, and top-flight restoratives wouldn't cure. So he belonged to Hestia Jones now, gods help him. She was an absolute tyrant when it came to rehab. And if there was one thing up with which Hestia Jones did not put, it was meddling with her patients. Even if the meddler in question was her ostensible boss.

So it was better, on the whole, to be circumspect. He was eating solids, but Hestia's protocol had him restricted to regular-sized portions of a bland diet. Ridiculous. Hermione had kept an eagle eye on his dailies; Snape had not reported the slightest inkling of digestive distress. He simply sent back clean tray after clean tray. There was no reason he shouldn't have more enjoyable fare, and he could certainly do with some extra calories. The man was slowly putting on weight, but he had a metabolism like a whippet; it was going to take a while to get him back to his proper size.

So, she soothed her guilty conscience about intruding upon him by arranging this little particular visit to coincide with his lunch. Given his grumbling about the cuisine, she felt fairly certain that he would enjoy what was in her satchel a bit more than what he'd been served up to this point…and if the price was spending a half hour in her company, well, that's what he'd have to pay.

She knocked on the door, waited for his response. Though it was unlocked, she always insisted that conscious patients be given that courtesy whenever possible. It was a change in protocol, but important, she felt, in preserving a dignity that medical care by its very nature often undermined.

"Come." His deep drawl was not yet in full force, but it was gaining timbre by the day.

"Good afternoon Professor."

"Madam Directress. " He said this neutrally, as if he had not yet decided whether or not he was glad of her presence. "To what do I owe this honor? More fascinating ink blots for my perusal?"

She snorted, unpacked her satchel onto the table in front of him, and saw that she had his immediate attention. "No, as I told you yesterday, you've finished with all that. Flying colors. You are officially my patient no longer. I am here purely as a visitor, a visitor who" she gestured towards several closed containers, "brings offerings for your lunch. Unless, of course, you are feeling satisfied by your bland diet."

She looked pointedly at his mostly-eaten plate of boiled chicken and pureed potatoes. Though his face was expressionless, he pushed it away from himself without a second glance.

"Madam," he said, with great dignity, "thrilling though my bland diet may be, I believe that I am open to other avenues for nourishment."

"Excellent," she said, and passed him a tidy container. "I'm delighted to hear it. Otherwise, I would have had to have eaten it all myself. Fresh Sweet corn and pepper soup with cheese. Cooked it last night; quite good if I do say so myself. " She rummaged around and pulled out a lovely, glossy braid of bread. "Challah. Also homemade. Accoutrements: Salted Butter, or olive oil, or tapenade?"

"All." His elegant hand deftly moved her offerings to his side of the table. He then gestured absentmindedly at the empty chair across from him, as he arranged his new lunch to his liking.

He lifted the lid on his crock of soup. Her stasis charm had kept the soup at temperature, so that fragrant steam rushed out the moment he lifted the lid. He groaned a bit, leaned his hawkish nose closer to the container and inhaled.

Hermione smiled to herself. She opened her own bowl and tucked in. With peripheral vision, she noted that the spoon he used to lever the liquid to his mouth no longer gyrated with the palsy of the infirm. It made its way surely, and expediently to his mouth. He really was progressing extraordinarily quickly. He tipped the spoon, closed his eyes, and savored.

"Base of chicken stock." He proclaimed his lashes sweeping open. What justice was there in the world when a man ended up with eyelashes like that?

Hermione nodded, amused by her own thoughts. "Is that a question? Yes, I started with chicken stock. I make my own."

"Naturally." He said, lifted his spoon again. "Any chef worth his salt makes his own." Another spoonful tipped into his mouth. "Onion, salt, black pepper of course. Chipotle. Ground?" From the tone, Hermione took the question to be rhetorical. He sampled again. "No. Whole pepper, likely dried, then reconstituted before being chopped into the base." He hummed again. "Fresh corn. Splash of cream. And it's finished off with a drizzle of garlic oil and sheep's milk cheese…feta, after cooking."

Hermione closed her mouth, which had drifted open during his recitation. "Why am I still surprised by your bizarre talents? Can all potionsmasters do that?"

The smug smirk on his face was textbook Snape. "Hardly. Horace, for example, couldn't distinguish ginger from turmeric based on scent or taste." His smirk deepened, "A fact of which I took full advantage in school. Amazing what happens to a watchfulness potion when you substitute one for the other. Teacher spends the whole session snoozing peacefully."

Hermione laughed, and reached out to tear a small chunk of challah from the loaf. She registered, but ignored Snape's outraged reaction as she bit off a corner. She had made the bread, after all, she was entitled to have some of it.

He balefully moved the entire loaf to his side of the table. He then slathered tapenade small piece, and neatly popped it into his mouth. "Kalamata Olives. Olive Oil. Garlic. Anchovy fillets. Lemon. Basil." He prepared another piece. "Tasting is a skill I honed in the Dark Lord's service. Dinner with my compatriots often involved…unexpected ingredients."

"Ugh. Well that sounds rather outrageously stressful. Were they potions, or poisons?"

He shrugged. "Both, at times. And at times, simply… less hygienic additions."

Hermione frowned, "And how would that have benefited them?"

"Never underestimate the perceived value of vengeance to one who seeks it. Petty as that vengeance might seem."

They ate for a moment in silence. Hermione reopened the conversation.

"Your rehab seems to be going rather well. Your file indicates muscle strength up almost 30% this week."

He scowled. "It would be up more if the restoratives in this place weren't so bloody weak."

Hermione sighed. "As you well know, as I provided three separate studies to you yesterday, the long-term results are superior when exercise produces most of the gains. Strength gains from potions simply don't have the same staying power."

He huffed. "Not with my restoratives."

Hermione nodded. "So you say. Someday I'd love you to prove that to me. But, be that as it may, you're not cleared for brewing yet. Until you are, we'll just have to use what we've got, and what we've got requires time and exercise."

"Mediwitch Jones is a sadist."

Hermione sniffed. "Perhaps. But she will get those skinny limbs of you back to full strength faster than anyone else I know. Besides, you should feel right at home with her."

He paused, shocked for a moment, and then gave a snort that in another man might have been a laugh.

Hermione hid her grin, and returned to her soup.

In just a few moments, Severus scraped the last drops from his bowl. After surveying his bowl, he turned an avaricious eye towards hers. Hermione met his stare with a bland expression, rolled her eyes, and passed her bowl over. "Here. Go ahead. Take it."

Snape applied himself with quiet determination to the remainder of her lunch. A few minutes later, he set down his spoon and sighed.

"Thank you. That was… adequate."

"Was it?" She said, raising an eyebrow. She'd noticed it annoyed him when she did that. "You practically inhaled the bowl. And mine for good measure. I'd hate to see what would happen if I actually brought you something good."

He paused for a second, as contemplating his response. "First, I do not inhale my food. If it is worth eating, as this was, I savor it. Second, having suffered through teaching you for many painful years," he said, "I assume that underpraising you is still the surest way to ensure more effort on your part. Unless your basic nature has changed, of course."

Hermione, snorted, shook her head. "Probably not."

"Precisely. And so, I say unto you, you will have to work harder than a nice soup to gain my approval. A perfectly cooked filet would not go amiss. With scalloped potatoes and creamed spinach. And a pot de crème. Chocolate. Dark Chocolate. At a later date. In the meantime, have you anything else in that bag?"

"Well, Professor, as it turns out, I do have three more items in my bag. The first is the copy of your medical records you requested, all twenty years worth. Should cure any insomnia you may experience. It's a bit of a breach of protocol for me to give them to you, so you'll note they are charmed to appear innocuous. I assume you will use discretion with when you review them. The password is "Cassowary."

He nodded, took the minimized stack of files wordlessly from her, made an imperious gesture for her to continue.

"The second item in my bag is an issue of Charms Today, with a lovely section on simplifying transubstantiation charms… reduces wand movements to almost nothing. Quite a feat, as I'm sure you'll agree, but I don't think reading material is what you are looking for, is it?"

Snape, who had begun tapping his fingers during her recitation, stared at her balefully. "Woman, if you had half the mind the world proclaims you have, you would recognize that I am inquiring as to whether you have additional food. "

"My, we are testy! Well, you can have the rest of the tapenade, spread it over the chicken you have over there. Or, as it happens, if you're looking for something sweeter, I do have one more food item in here. But I regret to inform you that it is exceedingly inappropriate. Hestia Jones would have my wand if she caught me giving one of her bland diet patients such an item."

Snape leaned forward, drawled in what sounded like a deliberately sexy voice, "Indeed? Inappropriate? Pray, is this sweet item also rich?"

Hermione's hormones gave a wild leap. Wow. She really did need to get laid, didn't she? She was relatively certain he wasn't trying to rev her up. He was just…Snaping.

"Very." She spoke loudly, in an effort to break the tension that seemed to have sprung out of nowhere, and simultaneously distract him from the flush of arousal that was surely even now moving up her neck, "I have brought us a bar of Wilde Irish to share. To share, mind you. You're not to eat it all."

He shrugged a minimal agreement.

"Wilde Irish is quite the rage these days. Dublin company. Makers of artisanal chocolate bars. Minimally processed from South American cacao nibs. Lightly-sweet. Very rich, and very very verboten for bland diet. Sadistic Hestia would find a slow, painful method of killing me."

His fingers, which had snuck closer as she was pronouncing the virtues of her offering, struck forward and nipped the bar from her unprepared hands. She yelped, which brought a smirk to his face.

"That should do nicely."

The healer in her noted with pride how handily he unwrapped the item. Fine motor control was looking lovely. The woman in her did her very best not to think of how clever those dexterous fingers had felt against her breast.

He sniffed the bar, gave it the same nostril flare he gave any potions ingredient. Broke a bit off with his teeth. Hummed with pleasure. "Well, then, Madam Directress," he said, passing her one, small, dark square, fulfilling, to his mind, her insistence that he share. "As you are my current source of gustatory pleasure," he said, enunciating each word, "I shall do my best" he paused for emphasis, "to ensure that there is absolutely no evidence of your transgression left behind. Madam Hestia will never hear of it from me."

End, Chapter Six

AN: I'm back from my Yoga retreat. There's nothing like four days of deep relaxation to get the creative juices flowing. But it was a vegan retreat…guess what major food group I was missing? Speaking of which, I'm going to go get myself a square of semi-sweet chocolate. Almost as delicious as Severus in full form. Yum!


	7. Chapter 7

Four fifteen in the morning. Hermione sighed. Four bloody hours of sleep. Again. Great.

Might as well get out of bed. Now that she was awake, she could be certain she'd get no more rest tonight. Ever since she'd overused the time turner to get through medical school, her window of opportunity for sleep was purely a one-shot deal.

Of course, she couldn't entirely blame medical school. She'd never slept well with another person in her bed, had she. Not Ron, not Michael, and certainly not Malcolm, despite the fact that he was the most polite bedmate she'd ever had. He didn't hog. He didn't steal the bed clothes. He didn't snore or snort or thrash about. To all intents and purposes, she saw no reason why she shouldn't sleep as well with him as without him.

But she didn't.

She sighed. What was she going to do about Malcolm?

He was charming. He was smart. He was golden and fit and gorgeous. He respected her. Her parents loved him… And she was bored her out of her bloody skull. Not with him. Not really. She was more bored with how they were together. Polite conversations, twice weekly dates. Even their sex life was as choreographed as a musical review. Start at 10:15. Fifteen minutes of cuddling. Fifteen minutes of foreplay. Fifteen minutes of sex. An affectionate kiss. Polite pillow talk, or planning on the day ahead, and then at 11:15, he would drift effortlessly to sleep, and she'd begin the hour-long process of quieting the chatter in her mind so she could drift off too.

Sooner rather than later, she was going to have to call this relationship quits. Semi-regular sex and the convenience of an escort to social events were poor reasons to feign a relationship with a decent man. He deserved better. And so, she reasoned, did she.

There'd been a period once, a few years ago, when she rather thought he'd been prepared to fall in love with her. The signs had been there. But she'd not felt the same, and so had done nothing to encourage him in that endeavor. The end result, she suspected, was that his nascent feelings had withered under the paucity of her affections.

He'd probably have broken things off by now, but he was simply too soft-hearted to do the deed. The one thing Malcolm was lacking was spine. Hermione sighed. Well, she had enough spine for both of them, didn't she? She resolved to get the job done in the next few days.

Meanwhile, one thing she was NOT going do was extrapolate another failed relationship into a future without love. Ron had found someone, hadn't he? She had just as much love to give as he did. It stood to reason that she would too. There was no reason on earth that she shouldn't be as capable of deep love as anyone else.

She just hadn't found the right person yet.

Hermione Granger sipped her hot tea, and waited for the sun to rise.

SSSS

Over the next several days, Severus Snape perused the files Grown Up Granger had left him. They were fascinating. That Granger had pursued his liberation with single-minded determination was readily apparent. She'd taken over his case shortly after her Mastery, and had immediately used her Potter-given powers to see that he was moved from the hospital dungeon where he'd been stored like a rotting potato to the facility's most beautiful room.

Her rationale for advocating the change centered around the very theories on sensory input that she'd shared with him earlier…but notes didn't quite hide her very Gryffindor sense of outraged justice that his heroic self had quite simply deserved better.

Still, it had been to his benefit, hadn't it? It behooved him to consider what other manner of advantages the mantle of hero might provide him. He made a careful note to do so during his next contemplative period.

Though he was only three quarters of the way through fifteen years of meticulous notes, it was obvious that he had remained among Granger's priorities even after her promotion to director. Using a combination of cleverness and mild coercion, he'd pried the story from his night nurse. How the previous two directors had retired from patient work as soon as they'd ascended. Granger had apparently refused to do so. According to his informant, the new director had insisted that her work with the "hopeless cases" kept her skills honed.

Furthermore, he discovered that his informant's husband sat on the board of trustees. A simple nudge led him to discover that the trustees were still vascilating between astonishment at their good fortune in securing a member of the Golden Trio to lead their institution (fundraising had tripled since her ascension), and outrage at her resultant ability to strongarm them into whatever muggle tool she currently deemed indispensible. Still, they'd apparently made no move to force her to relinquish her "hobby." No doubt they'd realized the prestige her remarkable breakthroughs brought to their hallowed halls.

Most notable of her achievements, beyond resurrecting his person of course, was the creation of an effective treatment for Chronic Cruciatus Syndrome. The files indicated that he himself had been cured of the condition while in his somnolent state. He did admit that while his muscles and tendons ached from the vicious physical therapy he was undergoing, his chronic bone aches seem to be completely gone. His jaw no longer clenched at night. His fingers and toes no longer spasmed when cold or still for too long. Best of all, the blinding headaches that had crippled him no less than weekly had not made an appearance, despite the fact that he was now past the two-week mark of his awakening. He'd tried to ameliorate all of these conditions prior to his denoument with Nagini. That she'd been successful where he'd failed only highlighted the magnitude of her achievement.

So Grown Up Granger had obviously been using her time to great effect. He'd expect no less; her work ethic had always been stellar. In fact, she was running herself a bit ragged, from what he could see. She looked tired. But he supposed so had he when his work had been upon one cusp or another.

He returned to the file. He got the sense that though he'd not been her only project, his coma, in particular, had been Grown Up Granger's white whale. He snorted, picturing those riotous curls shoved into Ahab's captain's hat. His helpful informant had also let slip that it was her single mindedness that severed her marriage to the ginger menace.

His informant had thought that a pity. He thought it good riddance. Weasley'd never been good enough for her anyway.

But now his case was solved. While he imagined she might find satisfaction in witnessing her latest project return to health, what was motivating her frequent visits? Why was she preparing and bringing him exquisite food? To what end? Did she simply wish to wallow in the evidence of her greatest success? Or was there something else at play?

Furthermore, he'd noted that despite multiple efforts, he'd not rattled her one bit with his insults. She'd even responded to his purposeful downplaying of the quality of her soup with no sign of fluster.

But the slightest flirtation? She'd flushed like the teenager she'd once been. Was this how she handled interactions with all men? Was she not accustomed to casual flirtation? By this age, shouldn't she be? She'd been divorced for many years now. Were the men around her simply so intimidated by her poised intellect that they failed to see her as a woman, despite her attractive qualities?

Or was her reaction peculiar to him?

Either way, Severus Snape found himself…intrigued.

End, Chapter Seven.

AN: Hello All! Thanks to those of you who sent me life requests for Severus. I'm still mulling them all, which is why you haven't heard from me on those. I got plenty of good feedback! Do continue to let me know what's working for you, and what isn't. I'm making an effort to make corrections as I go this time, so also give me your cannon and spelling/grammar edits, and I'll ensure that future readers are spared having to read my mistakes over again.

Thank you all for hanging out with me! I love my invisible friends.

Theolyn


	8. Chapter 8

The world may have moved on without him, but there were…compensations to spending twenty years at rest. Today, in anticipation of his pending release from hospital, he'd met with his solicitor. Apparently, his modest savings, carefully invested and untouched for so many years, had increased five-fold in the prosperity brought about by the war's end. When one factored in his Headmaster's pension, and the annuity from the Order of Merlin, First Class, he was the sudden possessor of quite a comfortable living, so much so that he was able to spend the rest of his long years contemplating his navel if he so chose.

He would not so chose. A life of leisure, even in concept, was utterly repugnant to him. But the knowledge that he could follow his interests without the need to seek remuneration? That was liberating. He'd not be forced to teach unwilling students again, nor grovel in some apothecary manufacturing sub standard love potions. For the first time in his life, he was free to follow any passion or mental challenge that presented itself. Set up a laboratory that met his needs. Stock it with any ingredient he wished to use. Create in it any potion he wished to manufacture. Attack any problem he wished to solve. He'd call no man master, but himself.

To call no man master. At last. He paused, and savored the thought.

His solicitor had also informed him, with some initial temerity, that the hovel at Spinner's End, without his reinforcing wards to sustain it, had crumbled into dust a bare year after his attack. Those personal possessions that could be salvaged from the rubble had been rescued and stored, but the dwelling itself, the building that had housed the pain and suffering of his sordid childhood was now returned to the damnation that had spawned it.

He felt no loss.

He gave his solicitor instructions to sell the property post haste. It seemed several muggle software companies had moved into the old factories, leading to a general rise in area property values. He'd had multiple offers on his lot over the years; young muggles of means were eager to claim a lot within walking distance of their place of employment. He'd get a pretty pound for it.

A good riddance for bad rubbish, as far as he was concerned.

He'd further instructed his solicitor to immediately begin the process of finding suitable accommodations for him outside of the city. His needs were specific: it was to be simple, uncrowded, with a yard for a garden and sufficient space for brewing. Furnished would be best. And he'd want to move in upon his release, which would be seven days from now. His man had whinged about the shortness of time, but abandoned that tactic swiftly under the force of Severus' glare. At least Skeeter's implication of mental instability had been good for something…the man was obviously terrified of upsetting him.

As, he'd snickered to himself, he should be.

Yes, everything was turning out nicely.

SSSS

_She stood before him. Waiting for him. That was clear. _

_Her desire was apparent from her stance, her anticipation written in the flush on her neck and the thickness of her breath. _

_He'd make her wait no longer._

_He closed the gap. Stood, now, a mere foot away from her. Watched her eyes blur. Let the want build between them. Savored the moment before it all started. For it was starting now. There would be no going back. _

_She nodded. She knew. She always knew._

_Moving suddenly, his hand swift as a serpent's strike, he thrust his fingers into the tangle of her hair. Her sound of shock and arousal was faint over the pounding of blood in his ears. _

_Yeeessssss... _

_He tugged firmly, using the curls in his fist to move her face closer to his. _

_Slowly, smirking all the way, he lowered his mouth to hers. _

_Her flavor. Deep. Earthy. Familiar. He groaned a harsh sound of triumph._

_He knew this woman. _

_She was his._

_SSSS_

Severus Snape jerked awake. He was tangled in his bedsheets, soiled with incontrovertible proof that yet another one of his dormant body systems had come back on line. He grimaced. A return to the releases of adolescence. How delightful. He evanesco'd the evidence.

And dreaming of snogging his healer too. How blindingly average. At least his fantasy hadn't clothed her in an over-tight white healer's uniform.

That his subconscious had hit upon this piquant interest was not surprising. She was, frankly, the only attractive woman with whom he'd had contact since he'd awakened. Certainly any comely witch would have elicited the same reaction.

He thought it best not to think on the dream further.

In particular, he ignored the niggling voice that kept pointing out that in the dream, she hadn't been just any woman.

She's been the woman.

Profoundly, irretrievably, his.

End, Chapter 8

AN: It's a short one, I know, but I couldn't bear to put another scene in here. I'll make it up to you by posting the next chapter sooner.

I know we've been spending quite a bit of time inside Severus' brain. I'm going to work on giving Hermione a bit more of the stage as things move forward. Thanks for your suggestions and edits. You are wonderful muses!


	9. Chapter 9

"So." Granger said, her quill tapping officiously on her clipboard, "I hear you got your wand back yesterday."

He amused himself by making eye contact and drawling his words. "Indeed." Ah, and there it was. The delicate flush. He did enjoy that.

"Apparently, your magical abilities test shows you are fully functional."

Fully functional. If she only knew. But though a smirk threatened, he keep his features neutral and remote, answering only with, "I am."

"And I further hear you refused to surrender your wand again after the test."

"And this surprises you?"

Hermione sighed, looked down again at her clipboard.

"No. Not really. But you do understand that the idea of an armed patient on the floor makes the staff here more than a little nervous."

Heh. The thought of an armed Severus Snape should make them all exceedingly nervous. Aloud he said, "My heart bleeds for their suffering. Nonetheless. The wand stays with me."

Hermione groaned in frustration. "Look, Professor, provided that this last set of tests comes back normal, and I see no reason why they wont, you will be released in another six days. Don't you think you can bend on this matter for six more days?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. Are your ears not functioning properly? Shall I repeat it again?"

"That won't be necessary. Look. I get it. Really, I do. For you, the war was just three short weeks ago. It took me months after the final battle to be comfortable without my wand in hand. But I have to give my staff some reassurances."

He stared at her blandly. "Then reassure them. I will not use my wand unnecessarily. Except for Hestia." His smile reeked with malice. "With her, I might…slip."

"Well, that's certainly reassuring. And as you well know, Mediwitch Jones is extraordinarily skilled at her craft, a fact from which you are currently benefitting. Are you not being released a full week earlier than planned?"

"I am, though I might remind you that my own efforts are more causal in that than Hestia's. And, regardless, until I am released, I will be in the company of my wand."

He stared at her blandly.

Hermione threw her hands up in the air. "Fine. Give me your word you won't hex , ANYONE, and I'll allow you to keep your wand. Just, er, hide it from view, will you? Give me cover so I can at least tell them you are unarmed."

Snape considered. "Is Madam Directress, the great forthright daughter of Gryffindor asking me to Slytherin away my wand so she can lie to her staff?"

She scrubbed her hands over her tired-looking face. "Gods. I am, aren't I? And you're going to ride me mercilessly about this aren't you?"

He smiled.

"Ugh. Yes. Please Slytherin away your wand for the next six days. For me."

His smirk was feral and dripping with pleasure. "I would be happy to."

Hermione breathed a sigh of release smiled at him, a deep warm small that reached all the way to her eyes. "Thank you Severus. I appreciate it."

"Think nothing of it. But I will expect dinner tomorrow night, then. A cassoulet from Tant Pis. Rabbit if you please. With haricots verts. And their flourless chocolate cake. Two slices. I'll not share with you this time."

She looked momentarily shocked, and then laughed out loud. "I have no bloody idea why I'm surprised that there were strings attached to that deal. Alright. You'll get your food. Though how you eat so much and gain weight so slowly, I'll never understand."

"It's a gift."

"I'm sure. Now, I must go; ward C is overloaded… and a couple of the muggles whose memories were modified when that Hippogriff landed in Chelsea are showing some very strange behavior, some kind of neural cascade or other, and aren't responding to memory alterations."

"Methuselah's Serum?"

"Thus far, ineffective. We're going to try a mental purge first, and see if that works."

"Warm the serum first. You'll get a better result."

"Warm it? By how much?"

"Body temperature for one half hour. Efficacy of the primrose oil will be enhanced."

"Okay, then. We'll try that."

"Best get to your work then, Madam Directress;" With a flourish, he vanished his wand up his sleeve. "I so enjoy these little chats."

Hermione shook her head and chuckled ruefully. "I'll bet that you do."

"Oh, and one more thing, Madam, before you leave. I can't help noticing that your notes from the day of my resurrection are somewhat less complete than your other writings."

"Mmmm…yes, well," she looked down at her clipboard, plainly distracted. "I keep meaning to fill those in, but I've been busy." She checked her watch, flinched a bit. "But I do have to go now."

"Indeed. Well, perhaps later you will be so kind as to go over it with me in detail."

"Of course. I'd be happy to. Try to stay out of trouble now." She said, and she left the room.

So. Though it had been a fine performance, (and who would have expected that such a transparent child would grow up with adequate prevarication skills), he was not buying it. It took a master liar to fool a master liar. And that, Grown up Granger was not.

Apparently, there was something concerning the conclusion of his coma that Grown up Granger wished to hide.

Wasn't that interesting?

End chapter 9

AN: Well, as promised, in return for your acceptance of the last small chapter, an offering. A second chappie in the same day! Go ahead, shower me with love! You might just pry another chapter out of me this weekend. And it's a doozy! Not quite lemons, but definitely lemony flavored…


	10. Chapter 10

"So what is it?" Ginny said, her eyes narrowing. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean? Can't I come by just to hang out with my girlfriend?"

Ginny's laugh was husky and warm. "Can you? Yes. Will you? On a work night? No. You never come over all-casual on a work night just to hang out. You come over on a work night when you can't sleep and the cause of that not-sleeping is something that you don't want to talk to the boys about. Which means men, or sex, or men and sex. So spill it, sister."

Hermione sighed. "Gods. Sometimes I hate that you know me so well. Men and Sex. Ugh. You're not going to believe it, if I tell you. Hell, I don't even believe it."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You're hot for Snape, and having a problem with it?"

Hermione's face went slack, and her mouth gaped open. "What? I…how?"

Ginny laughed. "Oh, come ON! It's rather obvious. You've been mooning over him since we were teenagers, you know."

"I was NOT."

"Were too." She glanced down at her nails. "I mean, I know you were all about Ron, but there was definitely something there with Snape. Remember how sure you were that he was good, and how heartbroken you were when we thought he'd murdered Dumbledore?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I liked him."

"No, but it was a something, wasn't it? You believed in him. You really did, even when we all thought you were barmy. And THEN you spend your entire career working towards bringing him back. You rescue his ass, and he's all weak and looking to you for comfort. It's like a Geraldine Sparks novel. Hell, I'd think something were wrong with you if you weren't into him."

Hermione laughed. Trust Ginny put her mental agony into every-day perspective. "Well, when you put it that way…" She groaned. Dropped her head onto the pillow she'd set in her lap. "Shite. I'm so screwed."

"Oh, stop it. Why are you screwed? Because you like him so much?"

"He's my patient, for Merlin's sake. It's inappropriate."

"Was your patient. And it's absolutely appropriate."

"You're right. Was my patient. Oh, gods. Do the boys know?"

"What, that you want to shag the professor?" Ginny laughed and sipped her margarita. "I think Ron would need a brain enema if the thought even occurred to him. But yeah, Harry knows. He's the one who first pointed it out to me. You've been acting lovesick ever since the good professor woke up."

"Shite."

"Oh, stop moaning. It's just us, and we'll keep your secrets for as long as they are secret. I mean, I don't see why it needs to be, once you break up with Malcolm. Because, really, girlfriend, it is past time you pulled the plug on that one."

"Oh. Um. Yeah, I forgot to tell you. I broke up with Malcol yesterday."

"You broke up with the guy you've been dating for three years and you didn't owl me? You're just telling me now?"

"Uh,yeah. Sorry. I just got busy, and well, Snape."

"That is a serious friendship foul, Hermione, and you know it. But I'm going to let it pass, because…" She paused, raised her hands in a gesture of inevitability, "we'll call it mitigating Snape Insanity."

"Yeah. That fits."

"So if you're both unattached adults, there should be no problem. So, are you going to go for it?"

"Go for it? With Snape? He's not the kind of man one 'goes for it' with."

"Says who? He's male isn't he? Fully functional?"

Hermione frowned.

"I'll take that as a yes. So, what's the problem, then? It's not like going for him would be taking advantage of him. He may not be back to his fighting weight, but Snape's a big boy. From what you've said, I'm pretty sure he can defend himself if the big bad Healer puts a move on he doesn't like. So, what is the problem?"

"The problem is, I'm scared shitless. He's like a creature from another planet. He could really hurt me."

Ginny smiled, and topped up Hermione's glass. "Good. It's past time for you to put on your big girl panties and stop living in fear. You're a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake. You and Ron broke up. And you're afraid to get hurt again. I get it. But it's time for you to date someone with a pulse. And I'd bet the good professor has one."

"You have no idea."

"Really? That sounds like a story. Here. Drink your drink, and tell Ginny ALL about it."

SSSS

She was definitely not sleeping. Though he was enjoying his cassoulet with accoutrements, he couldn't help but notice that her eyes, tired on a good day, were blank with fatigue. He couldn't be certain, for she was skilled, but he'd bet the glamour she'd cast hid a pale complexion, and dark circles. He did not enjoy the feeling of concern he experienced. He had no business worrying about any body but his own. And yet…

"You look like shite." He said, his voice betraying his annoyance.

Hermione's eyebrows winged upward. "Please, no more compliments. You'll set me aflutter."

He scowled. "You perpetually appear tired. But today is worse. Why are you not sleeping?"

"Who said I'm not sleeping?"

"It is painfully obvious."

"Well, it's good to know that the work I put into my glamour in the morning has such great effect. I don't know why I bother."

"Nor do I. When you are not at the point of exhaustion, your actual face is pleasing, there is no reason to muck about with it."

"I'll take that under advisement. How is your rabbit?"

"Satisfactory, as you well know, as you are eating the same dish. And you'll find I am not so easy to distract. Why are you not sleeping?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but I've had mild insomnia and sleep interruption since our year on the run. Med school didn't help."

"I assume you developed dreamless sleep issues."

She grimaced. "Utterly expected, eh? Thankfully, I broke the habit before it go too bad."

"That's more than most can say."

"Anyway, I don't sleep much now. The real insomnia comes and goes, but it rarely happens two days in a row. But this week I had interrupted sleep on Monday, insomnia on Tuesday, and then last night I got home late and was called back in on that emergency consult. And now I'm knackered."

"Understandable. The human body requires rest. Go home. Sleep."

Hermione yawned. "I can't. It's only 7pm…I'm due to work 'till midnight tonight."

"You've already indicated you have nothing pressing. Don't be obtuse. You are the director. Leave early."

"The director, doing things she'd never let her staff do? That's the kind of behavior that crushes a sense of shared commitment, and undermines morale. No, I've worked too hard to put this place to rights to stroll out of here five hours before the end of my shift. I'll finish it out. Tomorrow's my day off, I'll sleep in."

"But you have an hour for dinner."

"I do. Half of which is now gone."

"Well then, take the next thirty minutes for rest." He gestured to his bed.

She narrowed her eyes. "You're just saying that so you can eat my dinner."

"Possibly. But I generally get your food without resorting to trickery, and I can see your appetite is already flagging. Perhaps I simply wish for you to rest. You are safe here. Why should you not lie down?"

An entire list of objections formed instantly in her mind as to why she shouldn't take a brief lie-down in his hospital bed, but those objections vanished just as quickly as they'd appeared. All of the sudden, she could not think of one reason to resist. Resisting seemed pointless, a waste of energy. She really was tired. She pushed away from the table and staggered towards his bed, her eyes already at half mast. "You'll wake me in half an hour?" She yawned. "Mmm…it smells like you."

Severus Snape smirked as she closed her eyes…and immediately pulled her serving of cassoulet to his side of the table. Humming contentedly, he tucked in.

SSSS

Swimming up from a delicious dream, Hermione slowly moved towards consciousness. She was warm and safe and comfortable. Something smelled good. Daylight was playing on her eyelids; she must have slept the night through. Hallelujah.

She fluttered her eyes open. The comforting smell she'd identified came from the arm her face was nuzzled into. It was not her own. Disoriented, she took stock of her body, which seemed to be tangled up with the body next to hers. Her leg was thrown over the other person, and her left hand was wrapped around what seemed to be a trim male buttock.

She flew from the bed.

Lying there, awake, with his usual inscrutable expression, was Severus Snape.

She looked around her. For Merlin's sake. She was in a hospital. Her hospital.

"You look," he intoned, his voice deep with sleep, "Much improved."

"What in Hades name happened here?" she screeched.

Snape, utterly unruffled, summoned his wand and silencio'd the room. "You were tired. So you slept. When I was tired, I enlarged the bed so that I could do the same. If you are concerned about what else may have occurred, I assure you, your virtue is intact."

"My virtue? That's not what I'm upset about and you know it. I may have been tired, but I wasn't THAT tired. One minute I was rational, functional, and the next I was IN YOUR BED."

"I performed a mild compulsion spell. That is all."

"That is all?" She screeched again, then dropped her voice to a sibilant hiss. "You compelled me to sleep in your bed."

"It was hardly as prurient as that. You required sleep, and were unlikely to take it. I simply assisted you."

"Assisted me? Merlin save me from Slytherins! Of all the sneaky, slippery…"

"Ah, we've devolved to name calling. Delightful. Yes, yes, I am a Slytherin, as you well know. I remind you that although you knew I once again had my wand, YOU came to my bedside without the slightest protection or warding. If anything, you should be thanking me for my restraint. It has been rather a long time since I had a comely witch at my disposal."

"At your disposal?" outrage stained her voice. "I am your healer!"

"Were my healer you mean. Nonetheless, you'll admit a mid compulsion spell was rather the mildest offense I might have committed."

"Well, it didn't occur to me that you would commit any offense on me." She gave him a fulminating look, and began straightening her clothes viciously. "Obviously, letting you keep your wand was a mistake."

"Perhaps. But the nuance you are failing to grasp is that I neither hexed you nor harmed you. You had a need and I ensured that it was met. I fail to see what the problem is."

"The problem is, this is my hospital. I can't be seen sleeping in a patient's bed." She took a deep breath, "Particularly with the patient in it!"

Snape rolled his eyes and sat up. She noted with gratitude that while he was bare to the chest, he was, at least, wearing St. Mungos issue pajama bottoms.

"Now YOU are being offensive. I am recently comatose. I am not, however, an imbecile. I assure you that those who glanced in this room saw exactly what the expected to see. One standard sized hospital bed, containing one somewhat emaciated patient, and nothing else."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and sank into the room's sole armchair.

"Well, that's something at least." She tried, valiantly, to find a bright side. "So, what did you use to make me sleep? That would be a good charm to know."

"I used a simple compulsion spell to assure you that this bed was a fine place to sleep. That is all."

"That can't be. I don't sleep for twelve hours straight. Ever."

"A statement that is patently untrue. Obviously."

"Obviously. Twelve hours. I must have been more tired than I realized."

"My point exactly."

"Be that as it may, you must understand how inappropriate this action was."

"Must I? You needed sleep. You got it. I know from your files that you spent years attempting to care for me. I simply repaid the favor."

Hermione scrubbed her hands over her face. "Are you always so high-handed with your friends?"

His face held mild bemusement. "Are we friends then?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "After waking up with my face in your armpit, I would certainly hope so." Her temper, which had begun to wane, fired up again. "And why the hell do you think I've been eating with you? Pity? Yes we're friends, you idiot. Or we were. Or, I don't know what we are! And right now I'm so angry at you I can't see straight. You should not have done this."

"Given how rested you look, I disagree."

"Fine." She stood up, wand-waived herself tidy. "Well then, you can get your own damned dinners for the next few days. I don't want to see your face for a while. And don't think I won't shield myself from further compulsions in your presence."

He shrugged. "A wise choice. Good day, Madam Directress." He said. He then rolled over in his bed, giving Hermione his back side.

Hermione growled at it. The nerve! He was lucky she didn't hex him to eternity and back again. She growled again, then, checking the hallway to ensure it was clear, she slipped from the room.

End Chapter ten.

AN: Hello dear readers! I hope you enjoyed Hermione's tantrum and this weekend's post-a-thon. Unfortunately, I'll be slowing down soon, as I'm catching up with myself…I only have two chapters drafted after this one.

I do want to apologize for not responding to every review lately. I sit down with every intention of responding, and I open my computer and get sucked into writing the story instead. But I do read each and every one. And they make a difference. Many of your thoughts and suggestions have already been integrated into the plot. I even had my first cannon debate with the very brilliant VerySmallProphet. (I'm pretty sure she kicked my ass, but it was fun and informative nonetheless!)

And so! Our Plot! Our heroes have slept together. Platonically, alas, but…yum anyway. How long do you think it will take Hermione to figure out why she has no problem sleeping in Snape's arms?

Ponder that, and have a great week! Theolyn


	11. Chapter 11

SSSS

She had just slept half of an entire day tangled up with Severus Snape.

He'd tricked her into sleeping in his bed, using a compulsion spell no less. If that wasn't humiliating she wasn't sure what was. She hadn't fallen for a compulsion spell since Ron had used one to get her to write a divination essay for him in 5th year. He'd tried it again a month later, and she'd responded with a stinging hex so powerful he'd spent a night in the infirmary. But obviously, a compulsion spell performed by a student, and one performed by a master spy had differing magnitudes of subtlety.

Regardless, he'd tricked her into his bed, neglected to wake her when he said he would (she did remember him agreeing to wake her, didn't she?) Then when he'd gotten sleepy, he'd simply magically enlarged the bed and crawled into it with her.

She should be beyond furious with him. Shouldn't she?

But she wasn't. Not really. Not anymore, anyway. Now that she'd cooled down, she was strangely… touched. He was a private soul, gods knew, and yet he'd shared his most private space with her. It was, she suspected, an act of great intimacy from his perspective.

And she'd slept. Gods had she slept.

She didn't know if she'd wrapped herself around him, or if he'd maneuvered their waking position, but either way, she'd felt safer and more restful in his thin arms than she ever had in Malcolm's brawny ones.

Boy was she in trouble.

SSSS

Excerpt from "Heard About Town" a weekly digest of what's new in Wizardom.

Daily Prophet.

"…And finally, former Hogwarts Headmaster and war hero Severus Tobias Snape is due to be released tomorrow from St. Mungo's Hospital, where he been recovering from a prolonged magical coma. Prior to her unexpected hiatus, prophet contributor Rita Skita covered the man's awakening in an earlier feature. However, the paper has seen no evidence to corroborate her suspicions that Professor's Snape's illness and recovery were in any way connected to nefarious actions on the part of beloved war heroine, and respected director of St. Mungos, Hermione Granger. The Daily Prophet joins all of wizardom in wishing the Professor best wishes on a speedy recovery."

SSSS

Severus Snape examined the choices of attire his solicitor had brought for him. The tailor who had made all of his clothing had not, it appears, survived the war. Pity.

His man had done his best to find suitable alternatives. The black trousers fit admirably, despite the two stone he had yet to regain. The white dress shirt was adequate, although the fabric was not quite to the crispness he preferred. Both waist coats, however, were of crude manufacture, and absolutely unacceptable. The jumper, while likely fine for reading in front of a fire, was one in which he'd not be seen in public.

But the robes, at least, were perfect. They'd been a set he'd left behind at Hogwarts and had been stored all these years with all his other worldly goods under his solicitor's care. Though he did not fill them as he ought, the robes were of good cut and quality construction, and fit his height and shoulders perfectly.

He pulled his cuffs to, then applied a small charm when they refused to stay in place. He made a note to increase the circumference of his forearms during his recovery.

Now fully dressed, he surveyed himself in the looking glass. He still looked frailer than he would have liked, but his body was once again upright and properly aligned. He'd regained his balance, and some of his ease of movement, and his face had moved from skeletal to merely gaunt. However, unlike prior to his long sleep, he looked neither exhausted, nor strained. All in all, it would do.

A familiar knock sounded at the door. Grown Up Granger. Good. He'd done his best not to consider that Granger might not unbend enough to see him before his departure, though the possibility had niggled at him. He needn't have worried. The little Gryffindor would have considered staying away cowardly. So much the better.

"Come."

Granger walked in, her usual clipboard in tow, her nimbus in its usual state of tidy disarray. He noted that the effects of her long sleep two days before had not entirely deserted her; she still looked more rested than usual. It was…good to see her.

She walked in and froze. "You've grown out your hair."

He raised a single eyebrow. "While I understand the convenience of keeping my head shorn during my great rest, I saw no therapeutic reason I should keep it short now that I am resuming a normal life."

"No, of course not. Not at all. I'd just gotten used to it short, that's all."

_And that's how you hair looked when you kissed me senseless,_ she thought, a shiver running through her frame.

He did not seem to notice her unease. "Did you read the Prophet yesterday?"

"I did. Fascinating, isn't it, how they slander on the front page, and retract in small print."

He shrugged. "Did you set Potter after that Skeeter woman?"

Hermione smiled smugly and swung her wand in an arc, casting a Silencio. "I can handle Skeeter very well on my own, thank you very much. Every now and then she needs a little reminder of what happens when she sticks her foul proboscis in my life. So now she's taking a little memory-jogging vacation. In a very nice terrarium. For a month or two."

He tilted his head in question.

She gestured to his copy of the prophet, "Unregistered Animagus: Insect." She pointed at herself. "Butterfly net." She let that sink in, and was gratified when he barked a laugh. She grinned at him. "It's a long sordid story. She and I have been at war for years. If you're lucky, I'll tell you about it sometime."

"For a Gryffindor, you appear to be a formidable enemy. I am…impressed."

"Yes well, you should keep that in mind before you cast any more compulsion spells."

"Indeed. May I assume that this conversation means you've decided not to be angry with me any longer?"

She sighed. "Being angry at you for being Slytherin is like being angry at a typhoon for spewing rain. Let's just say I've put your behavior into context."

"Good. Context is valuable. My intentions were honorable."

"I get that. And yes, context is valuable. That's why I'm here to give you some. You can consider it your going away gift."

"Indeed?"

"You asked me to provide you with more detailed notes of the day that you awoke."

"And you did. Did you not?"

"Yes, well, what I gave you was the official story. Which, I'm fairly certain, you'd already surmised was missing a thing or two. Which I will share with you now if I have your word of strictest confidence."

"You have it. Proceed."

Hermione nodded. "As my notes indicated, once I made contact with you, and convinced you to drop your occlumantic shield, I brought you a simulacrum of bespelled rennervation draught. Your decision to take the potion in your coma triggered its administration to your body in the real world."

"Yes."

"Well, I wanted you to know that was not the only potion offered to you that day. I gave you a choice." She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small vial of purple potion. "I also felt it was my duty to offer you this…

"You had done so much, and been stuck in limbo for so long. I couldn't be sure you would want to come back."

He took the bottle, uncorked it, peered inside, held it to his nose, and breathed deeply.

"Pacem Nox." He said. A bare smile appeared about his lips. "Sweetest, most

pleasurable of magical poisons. Dreadfully difficult to make." He sniffed it again. "is this of your own manufacture?"

Hermione smiled and shook her head. "Yes, of course it is. I'm not going to buy it, am I? And by the way, that is EXACTLY what you said the first time."

"Is it? Did I also comment on the fact that this potion is a class E restricted substance, which could earn you a one-way ticket to Azkaban?"

"You didn't. But I am aware of the fact."

"And yet, you brought it to me. I assumed it too was bespelled to admister itself should I so choose. So, Mediwitch Granger offered me painless, easy death."

"I did."

He caressed the vial with apparent fondness. "Did you marinate the Silfskin properly?"

She snorted. "Well you are nothing if not consistent. Yes, of course I did."

"This was…an honorable thing you were prepared to do." He paused, a look of consideration on his face. "I am frankly surprised, given that my task was done, that I did not chose that option. Did I appear to consider it?" He seemed fascinated, rather than horrified by that fact.

"No. I don't think you did. You seemed quite certain that you wished to return."

"So my new interest in life pre-dated my return?"

"Apparently so."

"I find it…out of character that my interest in life has returned with such vigor. A side effect of the coma?"

"Perhaps. You were…alert in there. Who knows what your subconscious got up to? Or maybe, you just got sufficient rest. So you haven't remembered anything else?"

"The white environment you described. Flashes of memory from my life. Nothing more."

"Well, that's more than you remembered initially. Maybe you will get more as time progresses."

Perhaps. Nonetheless. Whatever I experienced… I must…thank you. For being willing to offer me peace. It is more than has been offered to me in any of my other brushes with death." He handed the bottle back to her.

"You are welcome. I felt that before you went out into the world, you needed to know that you had a choice. Know that you chose this… Just in case…things get difficult. "

"Understood. As is the fact that you took great personal risk to bring this to me. I shall not forget it. "

Hermione vanished the vial of poison, paused, took a couple of deep fortifying breaths. "The other thing is less grave. More…amusing really. But still, part of the story you deserve to know. You see, when I first arrived in your mind, you were not aware that I was…real."

"I took you to be a figment of my imagination?"

"I believe so."

"Given the paucity of my environs at the time, I can imagine why that might have been the case. I can only assume I was starved for sensory input. And what occurred as a result of this mistaken assumption?"

"Occurred?"

"You would not have brought up this matter had my misinterpretation of your arrival not caused some problem. What occurred?"

"You kissed me."

"Did I?" He looked momentarily surprised, then thoughtful, as his orderly mind began rapidly slotting puzzle pieces. "and what did you do?"

The flush, already spreading across her chest, began to darken.

"I assume the kiss to which you refer was not a gentle buss upon your cheek. What action did you take?"

The flush, spread further. "I stopped you."

"Immediately?"

Darker still. "No. Not immediately. But as soon as I got my wits back."

"Ah, I see. And this has undoubtedly made things…awkward for you."

Hermione shook her head. "No, not awkward. Well, a little at times. But certainly not insurmountably so. I am a big girl. Although my remembering it, and you not, well that didn't feel quite…right."

"Understood. Thank you for illuminating me. Is there anything else about that day that you wish to reveal?"

"No. That covers it."

"So, you offered me death, and I kissed you."

"Not in that order, but yes.

"Interesting."

She snorted. "Yes, I certainly thought so."

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door. Hermione waved her wand to cancel her Silencio.

"Well, there's your ministry driver. All that's left is for you to sign your release papers. If you would sign here? George, come in, please. Professor Snape's bags are just there."

"Yes, mum."

"And how is your wife doing? Up and about yet?"

George's face broke out into a craggy grin. "Right as rain, and twice as pretty."

"I am so glad to hear it. You'll send her my best will you? And take good care of our passenger here, won't you?"

"You can count on that, Mum. We all know what he did for us. Professor, take your time, I'll load these into the car."

Hermione took back the clipboard Snape offered her. Its lower right corner now sported the Professor's spidery scrawl.

"And that about does it. You are hereby officially released to your own care. Professor, on behalf of the staff of St. Mungos, I wish you great luck in whatever you do next." She stuck out her hand.

Snape, his face grave, his eyes dark and unreadable, took her hand. "Madam Directress."

Hermione smiled. "Professor Snape."

He bowed. Turning to leave, his familiar cloak twirling around him, he paused and looked back to her, his expression calculating.

"Until we meet again, then."

End chapter 11.

AN: And now, we move into uncharted territory. I have no earthly clue where we are going from here. Your wishes, desires, hopes and dreams for the story are all food for the muse. Review! PM! Feed her!

Oh, and have a fantastic weekend!

Theolyn


	12. Chapter 12

SSS

Severus Snape put his foot on the shovel, dug it in, and surveyed his new domain with profound contentment. To his mind, the smell of composted chicken shit provided a pleasant counterpoint to the other scents of autumn. And the sight, of thoroughly turned earth…to him, that too was beautiful. It was the ultimate unwritten book, was it not? Soil: enriched, aerated, meticulously free from stones and twigs, ready to grow…anything.

He'd not used one bit of magic to prepare this small plot of earth. No, he'd dug and turned every square foot by hand. Though his body had protested the vigor with which he'd undertaken his task, he knew the purity of his ingredients would be greatly enhanced by his efforts. And if it had supplemented the rigorous training schedule he'd devised for restoring his body to full strength, so much the better.

He and the garden. Both…preparing. Neither of them certain for what.

Even so, it was now time to rest, lest he overstrain his muscles. As often happened at these moments, he visualized Grown Up Granger's disapproval should he injure himself by pushing too hard. He snorted. These days, his subconscious would take any excuse to think about the frizzy-haired one.

It was exceedingly annoying. Here he was, enjoying the first freedom in his adult life. His day, for the first time, structured entirely by his own hand. His priorities, in their entirety, his own. Except for this. His subconscious' insistence that he spend an abominable quantity of time thinking on Granger was blasted inconvenient.

Perhaps his subconscious had good reason to crave the witch. He, after all, had not yet had the pleasure of plastering his mouth upon hers; his subconscious had. (It seemed wrong to envy his subconscious the experience. Was it not?) But he was the master here. He would decide what would happen and what would not, and he did not wish to pursue entanglement with anyone, no matter how desirable the witch might be.

That he desired her…well, that did not seem to be in question, not anymore. In the first few nights after his release, he'd done a bit of shopping at the local pub, wondering if perhaps he was craving woman, generic, rather than woman, specific. Alas, though he'd had far more interest than he'd garnered at any other point in his life, and though the parties in question had been rounder, thinner, prettier, plainer, blonder, darker than Granger, he'd felt no desire to deepen the acquaintance. He'd sent each on her merry way with the heavy weight of realization dawning in his mind.

It wasn't women, in general that he wanted. It was woman, specific.

Blasted inconvenient indeed.

SSSSS

Hermione surveyed the table before her with warmth in every vein. Part of it was the wine, of course, but most of it, most of it was the company. Though the three of them still dined alone together every Thursday, Mondays were family night, and it was usually a circus of chaotic affection. Tonight was even more rauccus, as Ron and Megan had just announced their engagement.

There was Megan, her garnet flashing on her finger, her face glowing with happiness. Ron, his face flushed with pride, his arm slung protectively about the back of her chair. James and Albus, heads together, plotting to snatch another pudding. Ginny pretending not to see what they were about, a small grin on her lips . Luna humming happily to herself. Rolf passionately explaining their latest expedition to Neville, while Neville bounced baby Lorcan on his knee. Hannah, Neville's wife, ripe with their own child, watching him the two of them fondly.

For Hermione, Family night felt…different now that Malcolm wasn't by her side. She realized she'd felt dishonest somehow, bringing someone she didn't truly love into this web of caring and connection. He'd been calm and he'd been polite, but he'd never truly belonged. And now that she was once more on her own, everything just seemed to be that much more in harmony.

Harmony. She grinned to herself. She doubted there would have been any harmony at all had she surrendered to her impulse to invite Severus tonight. She'd had the note all written when, upon further reflection, she'd decided a gathering like this one would likely be far more traumatic than therapeutic for him, even if she had somehow convinced him to attend.

No need to throw the man into the deep end of the pool. Still, now that it had been a week since his release, reaching out to him would be…reasonable, wouldn't it? An inquiry into his health, and wellbeing?

"Well, don't you look like you ate the canary," said Ginny, her hand shooting out to cushion Lysander's head from hitting the table. The woman might have retired from the Harpies, but she still had the reflexes and the peripheral vision of a top notch Quidditch player. "Watch that corner, mate." She said, as the toddler whizzed by.

"Do I?"

"Do you what? Oh, the Canary. Yes, you do. Thinking about the professor, are we?"

"Thinking that it's time for me to send an owl to my patient…she how he's getting along."

Ginny grinned. "Former patient. And yes, I think its quite time. But why Owl? It's so very impersonal. Why not a visit? Doesn't the Healer want to evaluate if he's well? And wouldn't bringing a baked good and a bottle of wine make it all seem… neighborly?"

"Neighborly? We are only a mile apart, aren't we? I like it!"

Harry, who'd obviously been listening in, snorted. "Woman, are you sure you were sorted into the right house? Your skills in the art of matchmaking are positively occult."

Ginny gave her husband a saucy look, and lowered her voice. "Oh, do quote Pride and Prejudice to me, you know how that riles me up."

"Oy!" yelled Ron, from across the table his brow furrowing. "We're not talking about Hermione and Snape again are we? I just finished eating."

"Oh, come off it," shouted Megan, punching him in the arm. "He's a hero."

"She hit me! Did you see that, Albus? You engage a witch and from then on it's punching punching punching all the time."

Albus grinned at his favorite uncle. "That's not what you were saying when you were snogging in the garden before, then you were saying that…"

"Whoah-no you don't." said Ron, as the threw the kid over his shoulder, causing paroxysms of laughter, "What a man says when he's kissing a pretty lady is not to be repeated elsewhere, understand?" To drive the point home, he began to tickle the boy mercilessly.

Ginny growled. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, if that boy vomits, I swear I'm going to make you clean it with that mangy Cannons shirt your wearing."

"Don't call my shirt mangy. It's a classic. And you wouldn't do that."

"She wouldn't?" Harry said, feigning confusion, "How long have you known your sister? Because I've known her for a while, and I'm fairly certain that she would definitely do that."

James nodded his head vehemently. "And she'll hex you too!" He shuddered.

"Too bad, chum," he said, putting the squealing Albus back on the ground. "Can't risk the Bat Bogey Hex."

Luna, who had just placed baby Lorcan to her breast, raised a hand. "Why can't we talk about Hermione and the Professor?"

"Because she likes him," said Ron, "And he's…" he shuddered.

"He is not!" said Hermione, Ginny, Hannah and Megan in unison.

"He is too!" Said Ron.

"He is rather handsome, the Professor as I recall," said Luna, her hand stroking her baby's head dreamily "Rather like a majestic vulture."

They all paused, as they digested that image. Hermione's efforts not to laugh had water pooling in her eyes.

Harry, his eyes also suspiciously full of water, coughed twice. "See Ron, old boy, the professor is as majestic as a vulture. I really don't think you're going to win this one. Look at them." He said, gesturing to the women interspersed around the table. "They are all in agreement."

Ron looked moodily at all the women. "Yeah, I know," said Ron. "But I don't have to like it." He turned to look at Megan. "Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

She kissed him. "I am on your side. You just have to realize that it's the same side that we're all on. Hermione's."

Ron sighed. "I know."

"There now, you see," said Rolf, in his heavy German accent. "It's good practice for marriage. There are only two options when your woman is against you. Give in… or give in gracefully."

Luna let out a peal of high, clear laughter that had all of them raising their eyebrows. In that one moment, perceptions of who ruled the roost at the Scamander house teetered and were reset.

You never knew what would come up at Family Dinner.

AN: Thanks to all of you for the ongoing stream of ideas. I'm guessing a few of you recognize elements from this chapter…and I'm guessing even more will recognize things next chapter. Keep 'em coming, and I'll keep humming along!

Cheers!

Theolyn


	13. Chapter 13

Correspondence between Potionsmaster Severus Snape, and Healer Hermione Granger, as delivered via Owl.

_Madam Directress,_

_Having exhausted my last batch of restoratives, I am embarking upon the preparation of another tomorrow at precisely nine in the morning. If you wish to learn the modifications that I mentioned, you may attend. You may also bring appropriate food._

_Severus Snape._

SSSS

Hermione placed the scrap of parchment down on her kitchen table and grinned. How convenient that the "impromptu" visit she'd planned for Saturday was now a command performance?

With that in mind, she'd bring not only bring the pumpkin bread she'd planned on baking, but a rasher of bacon and some farm eggs for soft boiling. The man was, she knew, a bottomless pit. Beans as well, then? Yes, why not.

She summoned an owl-sized parchment, as well as one of the muggle fine-tipped pens she preferred to use when at home. The one that arrived in her outstretched hand was emerald green. Had she intended that? She wondered, looking into her palm. Wow. It as always a bit disconcerting when her magic outthought her.

Well, no sense resisting her fortuitous choice. She was trying to get to know the man, was she not? Why not write to him in his house color?

Okay, Slytherin green it was.

SSSS

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I would be delighted to observe your brewing, as well as to provide sustenance in compensation. Am I to assume that you have the appropriate kitchen tools to prepare a breakfast, or should I bring what I require?_

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

SSSS

_Madam Directress:_

_Do not be daft. I assure you, I have everything you might require._

_Severus Snape._

End, Chapter 13

Author's Note:

I'll bet you do, Professor. I'll bet you do!

Sorry today's update is so short…but I wanted to honor my promise to publish at least once a week. Now that the craziness of Halloween is over, I'm hopeful that I will be able to resume writing more regularly. Any special requests?

Theolyn


	14. Chapter 14

When she emerged from the fireplace at precisely 9am on Saturday morning, he was standing there. Just standing there. Motionless. Black slacks. Off-white linen shirt with the cuffs rolled to his elbows. Staring at her.

To all intents and purposes, he appeared to be doing nothing but awaiting her arrival. He did insist upon promptness in all things, didn't he? Nonetheless, she knew in a moment that he had not been waiting there for long. He was slightly flushed, and both his skin and hair were covered with the sheen that came part and parcel with standing over a bubbling cauldron. He'd been brewing, for hours from the look of it. But despite the fact that he'd obviously been busy, he appeared completely composed to her eyes.

"Good Morning Professor." She said, stepping forward and offering him her hand and a smile.

"Madam Directress." Rather than shaking it, he briefly enveloped her hand in his, then released it. She cleared her throat.

"You look rather well." She said, attempting to examine him with Healer's eyes. But for his naked forearms, he was covered foot to neck, and yet, the difference in his physique was remarkable. Where before there had been bone and soft tissue, there was now muscle. It was rather uncanny. "Surprisingly so. How much weight have you gained since you left St. Mungos?"

His face was subtly smug. "One stone."

She blinked. "You gained a stone in ten days?"

"Judicious application of magic in conjunction with plentiful food and a brutal schedule of physical exercise, and the job is done expeditiously."

"Hestia would be pleased?"

"Ecstatic. It is her rehabilitation program I am following…although I've…accelerated it somewhat."

She could not resist looking him up and down again. "Apparently. And there won't be a loss of strength once the potion wears off?"

He sniffed. "Not the way I manufacture it."

"How is that possible?"

"That is why you are here are you not? Follow me."

SSSS

Hermione followed him through his dwelling. As he walked just ahead of her, she could just see the contour of new muscle padding his lean frame. This time, it was definitely the woman, not the healer, who examined him. He would likely never be beefy, not with proportions like his, but that had never been her preference anyway. In the week since she'd seen him last, his body had gone from frail to…compelling. The way his trousers draped over his rear end? It was a thing of beauty.

She rolled her eyes at herself, and followed him outside.

SSSS

His yard was of a good size, but it appeared larger as its fenced area abutted a vast tract of pasture land. In the distance she could just see the smudge of a good-sized orchard or wood.

"Gods. Is that open space? In the middle of the village?"

He smirked. "And likely to stay that way. That parcel is part of the Metropolitan Green Belt. It has been declared open space in perpetuity."

"You got a house on the belt? You lucky sod."

He smirked. "Indeed."

"And this garden? Was this here too?"

"My luck did not extend that far. I created it."

"Will it be a potions garden?"

"Naturally."

"Naturally. You'd just have time to get your winter tubers in, wouldn't you? And maybe a few hibernators before first frost. So you cleared it manually?"

He glared at her.

She chuckled. "Of course you did. You wouldn't settle for anything less. Well it shows. Magic-cleared never does come out quite the same, does it? It's what, fifty feet by twenty? That's a lot of work for ten days."

"Indeed."

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "Gods, I love that smell."

He turned to her, a faint frown on his face. "Chicken manure?"

She laughed. "Well, actually, I like that too. But it's the turned earth I love. It's so…fecund. Ripe with possibilities."

She hadn't meant it to be a double entendre. Really she hadn't. But when she said it, the sentence sounded…suggestive to her ears. And apparently to his too. His frown deepened to a scowl laced with disbelief. Was she reading the situation wrong? Was he not interested in exploring whatever this was that was happening between them? But the moment passed quickly enough that she wasn't quite sure if it had happened at all.

Ah well. She couldn't let herself be over-swayed by his spines if she chose to cuddle the porcupine.

SSSS

The rather drab structure on the back property line might have been a barn in another life. Now, rather than livestock, it housed a large potions laboratory. It was as yet rather rustic, but it was practically furnished, scrupulously clean, and admirably ventilated.

"Good lords, man. When did you have the time to do all this? It's immaculate. And I know you didn't use magic in here."

He snorted. "Muggle cleaning crew from London. Quite expensive, but I did not wish to delay. Six of them came, spent the day scrubbing, and left it as you find it."

"That was money well-spent."

"Indeed."

"And the workbenches?"

"From the potting shed. I'll have to rebuild there before I start from seed, but this use takes obvious priority. You are witness to the inaugural brewing in this new facility."

"I'm honored."

He smirked. "As you should be."

The four spacious worktables were home to no fewer than six cauldrons on various heights of simmer. He gestured to them, "Pain Reliever, mild, moderate, and powerful," he gestured to another table, "Notice-me-not, blood replenisher, dreamless sleep." A third table contained three more cauldrons, as yet un-lit. The fourth table was full of prepared ingredients in neat, clear glass containers. It was to this work table that he led her.

Hermione, surprised, laughed. "And where did this come from?" She gestured to the pristine whiteboard that stood beside it.

He frowned. "Ryman Office Supplies. In London."

She did her best to keep her amusement under wraps. "Of course. Please, proceed."

Tapping his wand upon the surface, the words "Restorative Draughts" appeared in his familiar spiky handwriting. It was momentarily so reminiscent of her time as his student that she had to fight the urge to summon in parchment and quill. But she was not his student anymore, was she? More of a colleague, and hopefully more than that. So she fought the urge to behave like a student, choosing instead to maintain a look of polite interest on her face.

"You are, I take it, familiar with the three basic recipes for restoratives."

"If I hadn't been, I would have reviewed them prior to this meeting…but as it turns out, I have long had all three committed to memory. Restoratives are one of the core potions in a healer's arsenal."

"Indeed. Then you'll have no problem" he said, gesturing to a variety of cups and plates set before them, each containing pre-prepared ingredients, "identifying for which of the three recipes I've prepared."

Hermione grinned at him, the light of challenge in her eyes. She glanced at the items before her, and said without hesitation, "Ocelot's. Save for two things. The quantity of several of the ingredients are off, and you've used death cap stems, when the recipe clearly calls for the caps themselves."

He raised an eyebrow. "It appears your powers of observation have improved."

She snorted. "I've always had a keen eye. You're just listening to me with an open mind now."

Because he believed she might be right, he spoke dismissively, "Perhaps I find it easier to listen when my eyes are not being distracted by your hand waving madly about."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes, I'm sure that's it."

"At any rate, why did Ocelot call for the use of caps rather than stems?"

"Potency. The stems produce far weaker results."

"Do they really?" He gestured to his body, which had obviously been much improved by the potion he'd imbibed, "It is this very formula I have been using. Concocted in a small batch in my kitchen. So I think the potency of the stems should not be in question."

"Okay, I'll give you that. But if the stems are potent, do they need special preparation? I've worked with the stems before on other potions, and I've always had the impression that the caps are stronger."

"Your impression was incorrect. The stems have as much active ingredient as the caps, and in some cultivars more so…but that ingredient is absorbed differently by the magic. Rather than providing an instantaneous rush of power as the caps do, the stems provide a timed release. Slow gradual power that is sustained for a longer period. Given that, I have learned over the years that I can therefore add more batwings and additional yak butter…"

Hermione grinned. "…and additional botfly larvae without the mixture becoming unstable." Her grin broke into a full blown smile. "So, you can step up the strength of the overall potion without the cauldron blowing or the impact becoming too transitory." She exhaled and shook her head. "That's bloody brilliant, you know."

A small smirk twisted his lips. "Indeed, it is."

He tapped the whiteboard again, and a modified version of Ocelot's Restorative appeared there in maroon ink.

Hermione grinned at his color choice, and rolled up her sleeves.

"Show me."

SSSS

Later that evening, he would lay upon his bed and ponder the morning with great thoroughness.

That he was enjoying the game of it all did not surprise him. The slow and considered seduction of an intelligent witch was an artform for which he'd had scarce opportunity to practice. That he was enjoying her company so thouroughly however, did surprise him. They'd brewed together. Eaten a lovely breakfast. Discussed plans for the garden between sips of hot tea and bites of crisp twice-fried bacon. Then she'd filled him in on the entirety of her interactions with that foul Skeeter woman. And he'd found himself not only impressed, but also laughing out loud at Granger's surprising streak of Slytherinesque deviousness.

Laughing. Out loud. In front of another human being.

Odd.

That his laughter had pleased her had shown in the brilliant, devious smile on her own face. That smile. There was something about it. He actually wanted to watch it bloom.

Consequently, he'd attempted to curb his insults for the most part. But his caustic patterns of communication were simply too deeply ingrained to be entirely avoided. And yet, she'd taken his occasional barbs with humor, jabbing back at him as often as not. But though her barbs were clever, and often carrying more than a modicum of truth, they'd carried no heat, no judgment. Consequently, unlike many of the insults he'd fielded over the long years of his servitude, these words left no wounds behind them.

They were sparring. Verbally. And it was…pleasurable.

Also pleasing had been witnessing her leaps of logic in the lab. In his weeks at St. Mungos, he had come to suspect that beneath that elemental hair seethed a mind as agile as his own. Today he'd had that confirmed.

It was fascinating to watch her integrate new information, and follow the very same thought paths he'd followed. She'd leapt from concept to application to execution effortlessly and with precision. Her technique had been crisp and consistent, and her mastery of the source material absolute.

Much like his.

It was becoming somewhat… disconcerting to note how many of his pleasures were shared by her. The smell of his garden, which he'd though to claim as his exclusive pleasure, seemed to please the witch also. The tidiness of his workplace, the pleasing open land behind his property, the preference for growing her own ingredients whenever possible. In each exclamation he recognized a person who valued much of what he himself valued. That their appreciation of food was compatible had long been an understanding. But today had rendered more evidence of their ultimate compatibility.

He was not entirely certain how he felt about this.

To seduce a beautiful witch to his bed was one thing. But of a sudden he was no longer certain that was where this was headed. Uncomfortable as the thought was, the though of abandoning his pursuit was even less so. And so, though he was not entirely comfortable with the idea, he would further pursue intimacy with the witch.

Intimacy. Perhaps once the hurdle of sexual contact was surmounted it would all smooth out. He smirked. It was obvious that intimacy had been on her mind, at any rate.

He'd not been so long asleep as to miss the feral interest in her gaze.

He congratulated himself on using the glass doors on his kitchen cabinetry to surreptitiously observe her without her knowledge. Watching her ogle his rear while he had prepared their tea had given him devious pleasure. That seeing her do so had incited his own desire to an almost alarming degree, was to be expected. Though his brain was very much enjoying the delicate dance they were performing (Maroon ink! He'd almost gagged when he'd put it on the board) his body was getting somewhat instant that he cease avoiding the tugs that Grown up Granger was enacting upon his person.

When she'd moved to end their visit with an embrace, it was all he could do not to accept her in, then ravage her lush body. He'd supposed that action might be a bit premature. So he had instead, extended a hand between them. She'd flushed as she'd accepted it. How he enjoyed that marvelous flush of hers.

It was obvious that the awkwardness of the exchange had left Grown up Granger flustered, and unsure of the next step in their dance.

He could not have planned it better. She would go back to her home, and reflect on the morning, just as he was doing. She would realize that they'd had what was, to all intents and purposes, the intellectual's equivalent of an ideal first date. Shared interests, stimulative common activities, a fine meal, lively conversation. Laughter. His apparent reluctance to acknowledge the currents of attraction between them at the end of it all would only stimulate her interest, make the witch work harder for what she wanted.

A self-satisfied smile bloomed upon the face of Severus Snape.

What the witch wanted was him.

End, Chapter 14

AN: Hello my faithful companions! I've missed you all. This week was a productive one, with drafts of several new chapters taking shape. It's all pretty rough, but I do like it when I have a nice backlog building up. But as a consequence I don't thing I responded to a single review last week. I'm sorry! I will do more of that this week!

One of the dilemmas I confront as a fanfiction romance writer is when to introduce the sex. Several of my diehard readers are deep believers that love should come first. They are really saddened when my characters jump into bed before creating real affection and understanding between them.

And several of you are dirty wenches like me, and want smut first, love later.

Unfortunately, I can't please you both. So a quick spoiler so that you can be prepared: I have the first lemony scene unfolding in my head right now, and I don't think you'll be waiting for that for much longer. Snape's Oceans was clearly love-first. This one won't be quite so clear. We will know they are in love…I'm not quite sure that they will.

Also, among the most intriguing of the special requests I've gotten was for a specific NC17 scene. I've promised to deliver it, (you know who you are! ) but I'll do so after the story is over, as a one-shot (pardon the pun!) emailed to those who request it. Lemons here will hopefully be steamy, but not dirty enough to get my stories yanked off the board!

Enough rambling. Off to write more!


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"So then the bloke tries to run, mactintosh flapping, pants still around his ankles, weiner out and about like a bloody banger for the whole world to see." Harry said, his words getting more strained as he struggled to get through his story over Ron's snickers and Hermione's building laughter.

"And then Harry lunges for the tackle," Ron interrupted, "flies across space like a bloody hero, and ends up grabbing him around his great hairy thighs, and down they both go…"

"Oh, no!" gasped Hermione, hands covering her face from what was coming.

"And down we both go, and as we fall, I've got my whole bloody face practically buried… in this wanker's bum."

It was as far as the story went before Hermione was howling, and the two boys helplessly falling into laughter.

Tears were streaming down her face now, and Ron was hiccupping, which happened whenever he laughed too hard these days, which, of course, made them all laugh even harder. After all this years, whenever any one of them went, they were all absolute goners. Any time the hysteria would slow down, one of them would make eye contact with another, and all three of them would devolve again.

Obviously, they were fairly loud about it, because Ginny popped her head into the room for a moment, took in the lot of them slumped over the table, rolled her eyes, and left them to their silliness.

After a while, Hermione wiped her eyes and did her best to taper off. When she could breathe again, she poured herself a cup of water and tried to gently take a sip without choking. "And the two of you wondered why I didn't want to be an Auror."

Ron shook his head ruefully, "Yeah, days like this I wonder too." He took a swig of hiccup serum that he kept handy whenever the three of them got together. "It's not all dark wizard catching is it?"

Harry chimed in with "I dunno. It was pretty dark in there… between his cheeks."

And down they all went for another round of hysteria.

When they'd simmered down a bit, Harry took a bite of his pudding and turned to Hermione.

"So, speaking of Dark Cheeks, how's the quest for seducing our favorite professor going?"

Ron moaned in protest, but Hermione noted it was more half-hearted than last week. Megan, bless her heart, was bringing him around.

"Well, we had our date on Saturday, and it was…intense. I go from being sure that the man wants me as much as I want him to thinking he's barely tolerating my presence."

"Well, of course he wants you…he'd be a fool not to." Said, Harry staunchly.

Hermione smiled. Trust Harry to always have her back. "Well, he did agree to see me again this Saturday. My house this time. That's something. He's voluntarily coming on to my territory. I don't think that's an easy one for him. It's a good sign. Of course, we are still pretending these aren't dates. Can't acknowledge that we just want to see each other, can we? We have to have some pretext or other. Some recipe to try, or a potion to brew, or an article to discuss. Our next "meeting" on Saturday is ostensibly to collect cuttings from my potions garden. I wanted to invite him over for tea on Friday, but I just couldn't think up a ruddy excuse that would cover it. So I'll just have to wait for Saturday. Which is probably better so I don't seem too eager." She sighed. "Gods, I hate games. Too much work. But it never was going to be easy was it? Not with a man like that."

Ron, having just shoved a big spoonful of pudding in his mouth, spoke up, pudding and all. "Oh, come off it. I can't believe I'm actually trying to help you date Snape, but if you want him, just get to him. Trip him up and shag him. He is a bloke isn't he? You have skilss…"

"Oy!" Shouted Harry, clapping hands over his ears. He did not like being reminded that his two best friends had ever had a sexual relationship.

"Well she does. He's a creepy, gitty bloke, but he's still a bloke. We're just not that complicated."

Harry, removing his hands from his ears, snorted. "No. YOU aren't that complicated. Snape absolutely is. Look complicated up in the Dictionary. Picture of Snape. Even if he wants our Hermione, which I'm betting he does, he'd need to work for her wouldn't he? He wouldn't trust it otherwise I'm guessing. I mean, when has the poor blighter ever gotten anything in life for free?"

Hermione grinned and tilted her head. "Harry, I'm impressed. That's really insightful."

He grinned sheepishly. "Uh. Well, I can't take all the credit for it. I made up the bit about "getting things for free" but Ginny came up with the rest. If you ask me, she's the Snape-strategy mastermind. I'm just the lowly chosen one."

Hermione groaned "Oh, gods, there he goes!" and rolled her eyes. Ron was more direct, chucking a leftover roll at Harry's head, while muttering "pompous wanker."

Harry ducked the missile handily, stood from his chair and raised his arms in the universal sign of victory. "Ah yes!" he proclaimed, shaking his bum joyfully, "The chosen one has still got it!"

And more food flew.

SSSS

_Madam Directress:_

_I have completed a final batch of restorative, and find that I have one half dozen excess doses. As you know, they have very limited shelf life. Would you wish to collect them for your trials at teatime on Friday? As I recall, you generally have your afternoon available that day. _

_Severus Snape_

SSSS

When she had finished her happy-dance (he did want to see her, didn't he? Enough that he wasn't willing to wait until Saturday either.) She took emerald pen to paper.

SSSS

_Professor:_

_As it turns out, the extra doses would be most useful. We had another emergency last night, and I was unable to brew as I'd planned. Also, I happen to have half a loaf of banana bread under stasis. I'll see you on Friday at 4pm._

_Warmly,_

_Hermione Granger_

SSSS

_Madam Directress_

_Does this emergency mean you are sleep deprived? Take action to address that prior to our meeting, or I shall. _

_Severus Snape_

SSSS

_Professor;_

_Your concern is duly noted. I am forewarned. I shall see you on Friday._

_Hermione Granger._

End, Chapter 15


	16. Chapter 16

SSSS

"Well, she said, tearing off another chunk of banana bread, "there seems to be no doubt that the trial group I've used the modified restorative on are all outperforming the controls." She popped the morsel into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. A little dry, but not bad for three days under stasis. "They are outperforming by leaps and bounds, actually."

"Naturally."

Hermione grinned. "Hestia can't decide whether to be pleased, or to pout that their progress is so rapid."

Snape snorted, slathering a thick slice of bread with softened butter. That would solve the dryness problem wouldn't it? If you had the metabolism of a whippet, of course.

"If I have stymied Mediwitch Jones, then my day is complete."

Hermione snorted. "I'm sure. It will be a while before I publish…I want to pass the one month mark before its release so I can include initial data on the longevity of results. Any chance you want to co-author the paper? You'll get credit either way, of course, but the work was originally yours. If you decide to go back to academia, having your name on a peer-reviewed paper, rather than just a credit…"

He snorted. "THAT is most certainly not going to happen. I'd rather be simmered in my own cauldron than spend one more day of my life attempting to impart knowledge unto unwilling minds." He waived his hand dismissively. "I have no need for more publicity. Damned Prophet has been at my door practically daily, despite Skeeter's current vacation accommodations." He sipped his tea. "Do what you will. The improvements work, that is all that matters."

"You know, I've been thinking about your reluctance to return to academia. You don't have to teach school children you know. Or even University. You could take on journeymen, run an apprentice program, only accept the best of the best." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "They'd be lining up to study with you, and every one of them would hang on your every sneer."

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "You may stop twinkling at me. I have been twinkled at by the master, I assure you, I am immune."

"Well, then it won't do any harm, will it? I will make a point to twinkle in your direction often. Anyway…" she continued on, "the formula obviously works." She gestured to him with another piece of bread in her hand. "As you well know. By the way, you look even better than last week. Have you completed your recovery now?"

He grimaced. "My last dose is tomorrow. Hence the surplus. And of course, the restorative, though it tastes strongly of bat bile, was the far more pleasant causative agent of my recovery. The better part of my every day this week, when not dodging reporters, has been devoted to Hestia's Final Circle of Hell."

"That bad, was it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "While I was no longer vomiting by the midpoint of this second week, I have regularly considered weeping as a viable option."

Hermione grimaced. "The cardio or the strength training?"

"Cardio was the vomit inducer. The strength training inspired the near-weeping."

"I sure don't envy you. Though I'm pretty sure the program you're following was intended to last two months, rather than two weeks, so you are partially to blame."

"And your point is? 

"Not a thing. As long as you can handle the agony, and avoid injury, I'm all for it. The proof is in the pudding. At any rate, you look marvelous. Are you back to your former weight?

"I am within three pounds. Although my body composition is quite different. Even the simple pain-relieving serums I take for muscle soreness are hard to dose now."

"Makes sense. More muscle, lower dosage, more fat, higher dosage. So you're going to need smaller doses of most potions than before."

He nodded. "By approximately 23%."

"Approximately 23%" she chuckled. "That doesn't sound too approximate to me."

"It is. On some days the dosage is correct, and on others 23% reduction produces dosages that are still too strong. I cannot determine the cause of the variability."

She pondered that. "Have you looked at your relative hydration on a given day? That really influences uptake, and with your exercise schedule…"

He sniffed. "I had not considered that. But it seems a worthy variable. I'll add that to my calculations."

She smiled. It was nice to know that there were things she could add to his work from time to time. "So. Other than being dreadfully sore, how do you feel? Back to your former self?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "For the most part. My balance appears adequate. Coordination and fine motor control, however, still require fine-tuning. I have resumed my martial arts practice, but I am nowhere near where I wish to be. My muscle memory has all but faded. It is not quite like learning again from the beginning. Still, after twenty eight years of practice, it is somewhat disheartening to discover that I need to entirely relearn certain movements. And I am still far stiffer than I've ever been."

"Mmmm….Twenty years lying down will do that."

"Agreed. But it displeases me."

"Have you thought about adding in some Yoga to your routine? We recommend it to recovery patients all the time. It really does loosen things up over time. And I really enjoy it, personally."

"Yoga." He paused, a very male, very speculative look on his face. "Is this an endeavor… you practice?"

She paused, blinked, then laughed. "That is such a man-thing to say. Yes. I practice yoga." She lowered her voice. "And yes I am very," she paused, "very limber." She wiggled her eyebrows at him even as the flush climbed her neck. She then broke into sunny laughter. "I might even give you a demonstration one day. But I believe that at the moment we are talking about you."

He sighed. "Pity. I'd far prefer the other topic. The thought of you in a leotard is…intriguing. But yes, aside from the stiffness and the motor control I am back to my former self. Better even. Muscularly, and cardiovascularly, I am stronger by far before my illness. This much more resembles the body I had in my twenties than in my forties."

"Well, considering how worn down you were when they first brought you in, I'm not surprised that you're already stronger than you were. Frankly, I'm surprised you were even functional by war's end with the extent of your cruciatus syndrome. Your headaches must have been excruciating."

He shrugged noncommittally. "They were problematic. I, myself, attempted to discern an adequate treatment for the phenomenon for several years. I was not so successful as you were."

She paused, a bite of bread, inches from her lips. "Professor Snape, was that a compliment?"

He snarled, but without heat. "A statement of fact, nothing more."

Smiling, she popped her bread in her mouth. "You know," she said, covering her mouth while she chewed, "yours was by far the most severe case of CS we ever succeeded in curing. The treatment usually limits-out with half of the damage you'd sustained, and we've never quite been able to determine why. But you were far beyond that limit, and yet, your cure was complete."

"The coma helped in that, no doubt."

Hermione froze, another morsel of banana bread halfway to her mouth. "Explain."

He shrugged. "I've read your protocols. I would guess that my utter passivity enabled the procedure to be more effective than in a waking patient. Clearer muscular pathways, and less neurological resistance."

Hermione blinked. "Mother of Zeus," she whispered. For a moment, she sat frozen in her seat, blinking, and then suddenly leapt to her feet. "You infernal genius!" She shouted, throwing her hands into the air. "Why on earth didn't I think of that?"

He looked at her blandly. "And what was it, precisely, that I thought of?"

"Inducing a medical coma! For the Cruciatus Protocol. Think of all the people we could help! I have at least a dozen patients I could try it on..." As she spoke, she paced, her hands moving frenetically. "The ones we couldn't cure. They are all just muddling through, but it's not life, is it? Not with regular debilitating headaches." Her voice dropped to a mutter. "But how to do it? Draught of living death?" Before he could answer, she jumped back in. "No, at least not to start. Too many side effects."

He opened his mouth again, but she interrupted. "A hypnotic charm might work…coupled with, say, petrificus totalis," he raised a finger, but was ignored. "Hell, maybe even a petrificus medius might be enough… would certainly be less intrusive. Could be multiple modalities. Just need a first step, don't I?"

She was silent for a moment. He drew in a breath to contribute his thoughts, and was once again interrupted by a new round of muttering.

"…must get together a patient group. Uma Wilson… She has so little quality of life, she'll take the chance, no doubt about it."

He managed to get in a "No doubt" before she started off again.

"Yes, I'll start with her first. Gods. Her son will bring her straight by…" She paused, put the long forgotten bite of bread into her mouth, continued mumbling around it. "Could it really be this simple? Why not? Why in the hell not?" Still murmuring, she donned her wrap, and threw her purse over her shoulder.

She was about to enter the floo when she froze, and refocused for a moment.

Whirling in place, she grabbed Severus' face with both hands. "You truly ARE a genius you know. I'd all but given up on this one. Thank you." She smacked her lips on to his mouth. "Mmmm…." She said, a thoughtful look on her face. "More of that later, I think. Anyway, Thank you." She stepped away, her smile already going absent. "I'll owl you when I come up for air. I have to go now."

With that, she turned back to the floo, gleefully shouted "St. Mungos!" and was gone in a puff of green smoke.

SSSS

Thoroughly bemused, Snape touched his fingers to the spot where her lips had touched. The area tingled, almost as if he'd touched his lips to a live wire. Which, in a way, he supposed he had. With a slight smile on his face, he began to clear away the tea dishes.

Note to self. In the future, offer suggestions for her work at the end of their dates.

SSSS

_Dearest Professor:_

_My deepest thanks for your tolerance surrounding our Eureka moment earlier today. Once again, I am in your debt. You are probably the only soul I know who would understand the thrill and the compulsion surrounding such a breakthrough. I'm only sorry that it interrupted our tea. _

_I must further apologize for the need to cancel our planned expedition to my garden on Saturday. I've been called away to Lausanne for a healer's panel on dark curse treatments. As you can imagine, your insight has stirred up great interest._

_Since frost is approaching, and I have no idea when I will return, I encourage you to visit my garden without me. 25 Willingham Lane. Bright blue cottage with turquoise and gray trim. "Quetzal" will open the wards on the side gate. You may take cuttings of anything but the Regonia, which as you'll see is quite too near bloom to disturb. Oh, and do take as many flag iris tubers as you can possibly find use for. I'm rather behind on my thinning._

_I am available by owl if you need me. Until then, I shall miss you and your wit._

_Best regards, _

_Hermione._

End, Chapter 16

AN: Two in a week? Go ahead, say it: I am such a good girl!


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

An entire bloody two weeks she'd been gone. How many damned cruciatus patients were there? Not only had she missed their date in the garden, but she'd quite blown his timeline of when the appropriate time for a proper first kiss might be.

Still, he'd kept himself busy, hadn't he? Her garden had been quite refreshingly complete; he'd hardly had to find starts elsewhere. He'd replaced the benches he'd stolen from the potting shed, and all the young cuttings were now set. And hadn't he done her the favor of dividing half her flag iris tubers, and relocating them to the damp spot in his front garden? He'd likely regret it later when they made their inevitable attempt to consume his dwelling whole. But he'd been feeling generous at the time.

He was not feeling so generous now.

Yes, he'd kept himself busy. While he was no longer exercising at a demonic pace, he had kept himself rigorously active. He'd re-learned his empty handed forms through second degree, and had begun work on staff forms. His frustration at his stiffness had incited him to begin a hatha yoga practice, and he was surprised to note that he found it quite enjoyable.

And he'd had his studies, hadn't he? He'd quite caught up on the improvements made in his craft while he'd been indisposed. And he'd edited the draft of the paper Granger had sent to him via owl for his review. In truth, it had been quite adequate when it arrived. But given his annoyance at her continued absence, he'd given the entire document a smattering of somewhat unnecessary red ink in retribution.

Damned if he hadn't enjoyed that.

Oh, he'd kept busy alright. But still, he'd been unable to keep himself busy enough not to wonder what Her Frizziness was up to, or why her owls came every other day rather than daily. Her next missive would not arrive until the morrow, were she to remain true to form.

It was unsupportable. He would have to write her directly and tell her so.

SSSS

_Madam Directress:_

_Is it not time for you to return to London? Do you not have responsibilities here that need tending? _

_Severus Snape_

SSSS

_Dearest Severus,_

_I miss you too. I am sorry to be away so long, but regretfully I am needed here for another week at least. I can't even begin to describe how much work there is to be done. But I do have a half-day on Wednesday. I could portkey to London and floo in for lunch, and depart after dinner. Let me know if that is agreeable._

_Hermione _

SSSS

Severus Snape examined the latest letter, torn between elation and outrage. Who did she think she was? Yes, he was missing her. Any idiot could have inferred that from the tone of his missives. But what right did she have to put such an intimate thought into words? They were supposed to remain unsaid. Was that not the way such things were supposed to proceed? He was fairly certain that she was not supposed to call the game to light. It seemed…unsporting.

But she was coming, wasn't she? Traveling hundreds and hundreds of miles, and enduring moderate discomfort (that portkey across the channel was abominable, as he well knew) just to see him for a handful of hours.

This effort changed the rules of the game, did it not? He could no longer pretend that this was not a visit with the express purpose of seeing one another. Furthermore, it had not slipped his notice that since her casual kiss at his fireplace, her terms of address in their correspondence had been gradually growing more familiar. Addressing him as Severus! He forced himself to sneer.

Though in truth, he was not sorry to have that badge of intimacy between them…it felt…_wrong_ lately to call her Madam Directress, when truly she was ever Granger in his head. And sometimes, in his quiet moments, even Hermione. Hermione. As for her calling him Severus…well, he was only sorry that he hadn't heard that address in her own voice.

When had he last heard that name said with affection?

Okay. So she was changing the rules of their game.

Fine.

Perhaps it was time to do so. This thing they were building between them, well it did not seem to be following his preconceived notions very well. But it was progressing, was it not? And was that not his ultimate objective? Should he not then feel satisfaction to see it moving forward?

Was it not, to a certain perspective, a sign of success?

Be that as it may, if she was moving the boundary lines, did it not serve that he should do so as well? Did he not have a weapon he had not yet had opportunity to exploit?

As his plan took shape, the smile that crossed his face was pure Slytherin.

Oh, yes. He'd use that weapon… And get his lips upon the witch properly when next they met.

End chapter 17

So sometimes the writing comes in spurts. The last four chappies, and the next 3 as well, all poured out over the past 7 days. So you get a posting glut for a while. But I have nothing beyond those 3. If that doesn't change between now and then, I'll come begging for ideas once we get to the end of the material, so until then, just enjoy, and I'll keep posting as I finish the polishing process.

By the way, have I told you lately that I love you? Seriously, writing alone is a very different experience than feeling like you are writing with a crowd of dozens of people rooting for you. Makes me wish I could invite you all for dinner, and cheer you all on in your endeavors.

So for this post, if you review, do me a favor and please tell me something about yourself, or your life so I can pretend we're sharing a drink over some nice appetizers.

Hugs to all of you!

Theolyn


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

SSSS

When she arrived at Snape's house, weary with two hours of hard travel, she found the living room empty save for the delicious smell of toasted flour.

"Severus?" she said, stepping cautiously into the room. His wards did not immediately throw her back, so she assumed that he'd released them for her arrival. So he had not forgotten she was coming. She called again. As there was no answer, she followed her nose to the kitchen.

He was standing beside the stove, barefooted, in worn blue jeans, a soft charcoal-colored jumper, and a white bistro apron. Seeing him so casually dressed was rather ridiculously sexy to her psyche. As was the fact that he was obviously cooking something that smelled divine. A long wooden spoon stirred itself in the pot before him, and she noted that his eyes peered at the contents with the same intensity he used while brewing. Rather unnecessarily, he held up a hand for her silence, letting her know that he was aware of her presence, but unable to be disturbed at precisely that moment. She'd just as soon have disturbed a master painter at his canvas. So she pulled up a chair from the breakfast table, and sat down to watch the show.

He observed the quietly sizzling contents of his pot for a moment or two, flared his nostrils, then nodded in quiet satisfaction. When he dumped a selection of finely chopped aromatics into the pot, the sizzle became momentarily deafening, and a cloud of fragrant steam issued forth from inside. He stirred the contents with his own hand for a minute, scowled, then let the spoon stir itself as he added a small ramekin of spices. He stirred for another minute, eyes narrowed, then nodded, adding more ingredients. He set the spoon to stir again.

Another pot beside the larger one was turned off, and the contents strained through cheesecloth into large Pyrex measuring cup. The remnants, which appeared to be Mirepoix and crustacean shells, were tossed into the trash bin. The pinkish golden liquid was tasted, salted, tasted again, then diluted with an equal part of water.

Then he returned his attention to the main pot. Slowly, reverently, he added the pale liquid, one small bit at a time, stirring all the while. The loud sizzling quieted progressively as he worked in the stock. When the liquid had been fully integrated, and the kitchen had gone quiet, he banged his wooden spoon twice against the side of the pot, turned up the burner, and set the spoon onto a plate beside the stove. His face full of satisfaction, he turned to face Hermione.

"Well hello you." She said, a warm smile on her face.

Though he didn't smile back, Hermione saw _something _pass through his eyes, and she knew that she was welcome.

"You are precisely fourteen minutes early."

"I am."

"Had you arrived a l'heur as is your custom, I would have greeted you at the floo."

"That would have been unnecessary…but I appreciate the thought. Is that a roux I smell?"

"Indeed. It was at a critical juncture when you entered the kitchen. In forty minutes, we will be having a creole shrimp stew for lunch."

"Oh,my." Saliva pooled in her mouth. "Well, that alone was worth the trip."

"That was the intention."

They stood staring at each other for a moment, then he surprised her by saying, "Thank you for coming."

She walked forward, wrapped her arms around his stiff body, and held on. After a moment, he relaxed slightly into her embrace. She said quietly into his chest, "Thank you for wanting me to."

SSSS

Half a bottle of Viogner and a fine bowl of shrimp stew later, the two of them sat in his drawing room, watching the fire.

"So how have you been, Severus. Really?"

"Been?" He pondered his answer. "Well. Busy. Calm… Annoyed by your departure."

She smirked. "Well, that's good."

"Is it?" he said, his voice faintly petulant.

"Well, it is for me. Because I've been annoyed by not seeing you too, and I'd hate to think I was alone in that."

"Well you weren't."

"Good."

"Fine."

He paused for a moment. They'd eaten, had a touch of wine, even a bit of unplanned physical contact. (He'd quite enjoyed the hug she'd enforced upon him once he'd resigned himself to the maneuver. She was a canny opponent, his lioness.)

Furthermore, Granger's face had lost its shadow of travel fatigue, and was now fire-warmed, calm and happy. Thus, he assumed, this moment was as good as any to take matters in his own hands and move things forward.

He cleared his throat. "I have found myself in the past weeks increasingly bothered by the unease of not knowing what transpired during my prolonged coma."

"You still haven't remembered anything new?"

"When I have, it's been more of the same. Flashes of memory from my life. The white expanse, as you described it. A sense of time passing." He took another sip of wine, and peered into the flames. "But though my memory has not returned, I have a growing sense of…urgency about what is missing. Something happened there. Something that…changed me. It intrudes at odd intervals. I often feel as if I have left something precious behind. As if there is something that I was supposed to remember."

Hermione swirled the wine in her glass. "That would drive me barmy. I hate feeling that I've forgotten something important."

"I am glad that you understand my unease. I had hoped to resolve the problem on my own but my efforts to date have been unsuccessful. However, I did devise an…experiment that might be cathartic."

"An experiment?"

"Yes, to jog my memory as it were. But I will require your aid. "

"Well you have it, of course."

He nodded. "Good. Then I should like to recreate the kiss we shared in that place."

Hermione froze, and did the slow blink that indicated he'd shocked her. Good. She wasn't the only one who could change the rules in this relationship. And there went the flush that attended the fair witch's embarrassment as well as her arousal. Even better.

Truth was, he had little hope that this exercise would stimulate anything beyond a body that had been clamoring for contact with the comely witch since their embrace in the kitchen. But even if the experiment failed, it was an expedient way to get his lips on her, was it not?

He watched her reaction carefully. Had she demurred, he would have been disappointed in more ways than one. But no, his lioness did not disappoint. He'd shocked her, but she pulled herself together, got hold of her courage, and nodded.

"Alright. Yes."

How interesting that seeing her call her courage to the fore was, in itself, arousing to him. What did that mean? Truly, a voice in his psyche pointed out ruefully, he was as ensnared in his game as he'd hoped she would be. It was an uncomfortable thought, one he would need to consider in more depth later. But for now, there was a plan yet to follow, an objective to be met.

He continued on. "I'd like to recreate the situation as thoroughly as possible. You will guide my actions."

"Now?"

"Unless you had other plans."

"Um. No. Okay." She said, setting her wine aside. "I suppose now is fine."

"Were we standing?"

"Yes."

He set his glass of wine down, and gracefully stood. She also got to her feet.

"And then? How did we begin?"

She flushed more darkly. "Um. You put your hands in my hair."

He purred. "Of course I did. Your hair was made for a man's hands."

"It was?" She whispered, her voice breathy and thin.

"Oh, yes." He slipped his hands into the tangle of her nimbus. "It calls to me. The texture. The wildness of it." He closed his hands into loose fists, tightened them slowly. Watched her eyes dilate in response. The smile that moved over his face was pure male satisfaction, slow and naughty and warm. "It is irresistible to me…And then?"

"You bent me backwards a bit…"

He molded her body to his, and leaned forward, taking her bodyweight effortlessly into his arms. She was a slight thing, and he had his full strength back now.

"Like this…"

She nodded her assent. Swallowed visibly. "Yes. Then you… kissed me."

"Gently?" he asked. Without giving her time for response, he lowered his mouth into feather-light contact with hers. He paused, savored the delicate texture of her lips, satiny soft against his own. He sipped their fragrance like a bird at a flower. Without planning to do so, he held himself in that simple, still contact for far longer than he'd intended. Simply enjoying. When he slowly pulled away, he left a bare millimeter between his mouth and hers, so he could taste the air from her sigh as it caressed his lips.

"Was it gentle?" He asked again.

Her eyes fluttered open, pupils dark and dilated, and stared helplessly into his. "No…" she said, in an arousal-softened voice. "It wasn't like that. It wasn't gentle."

He smiled slowly. "I did not think so. Though kissing you gently has…merits we should explore at a later time." He fisted his hands more tightly. "Like this then." He said, and, without further warning, he allowed the hunger within him to slip the leash, and crushed his mouth onto hers.

Her shocked sounds of pleasure went unheard as he dove in, penetrating her mouth with his tongue, exploring, undoing. Here was a mouth a man could get lost in. So much texture and richness. Deep flavor. Primal. He hummed his own pleasure, agenda abandoned, games forgotten. There was no future here. There was only now. This moment. This woman. This kiss.

He bent her further backwards in his hands, ready to take them both deeper, a growl rising from his chest. He changed the angle of his mouth pressed more tightly against hers…

And then some barrier within him exploded, and his world broke in two.

And everything came rushing back.

End chapter 18


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